A Different Destiny
by Hiril Moon
Summary: AU. At the end of X2, John leaves the XMen and Bobby stays. What would have happened if Bobby had gone with him? Slash of the BobbyJohn variety. *Currently on hiatus*
1. Prologue: Pain

**Warnings for Story:** Slash of the Bobby/John variety, very little of the actual X-Men.

**Warnings for Chapter:** Unbelievably shortness, badly written ending. And only implied slash.

**A Different Destiny**

**Prologue**

Pain. Unbelievable pain. Pain that came from a source deeper and more powerful than the physical body, beyond anything you could do to stop it.

The pain of your mind being wrenched apart. The pain of knowing you were going to die. The pain that you would never say goodbye, never say how you really felt about so many people.

Pain is a terrible thing. But it can also make all the difference.

It can focus our minds. The intense feeling makes all else seem simple, and therefore understandable.

Bobby Drake was in pain. His mind itself was under attack, crumbling under an unending assault. He knew it wouldn't stop, not unless there was a miracle… Or when he died.

But as he lay there on the cold metal floor, screaming, it all began to drop into place. Everything that he hadn't been able to see before.

His friend, John. Pyro. His best friend. Always playing with that lighter. Playing with those powers. Letting them loose.

It was what he wanted to do. He could control them, hold them back, but that wasn't what he wanted. The Professor wanted to trap them; Pyro wanted to set them free.

Magneto didn't want to keep them caged. He'd been friendlier than the Professor had ever been. Acted more as a mentor than a disapproving headmaster. Understood him. Encouraged him.

Magneto had to gone to fight. John had gone as well, supposedly to help.

Gone.

John was gone.

John had gone to Magneto, not to the Professor.

The loss, an aching loneliness… It drowned out even that ever-present pain. A cry of despair deep enough to drive out the rest, if only for a moment.

Bobby reached out, wanting to feel the warmth that had walked out on the jet, on his life, on himself. Instead, he felt unfeeling material as a gloved hand gripped his own.

Forcing his eyes open, he saw Rogue holding onto him as if her life depended on the contact. Not fire, not heat, not John, just the girl he had believed he loved.

Only now he could see the truth.

No love, only infatuation. Not with her, but with the idea. A girl that couldn't be touched, that would never feel love the way others were able to. A mystery that had drawn him in, playing on his kindness, on the emotions that were still searching for a focus.

John had seen right through him, though. All the jokes, all the teasing… In that split-second, Bobby realised that John had been trying to tell him all along. He had known right from the beginning what had been going on.

And now the only person who really knew him had walked away.

As if on cue, the pain suddenly vanished, leaving his ears ringing and a head that felt like a small bomb had exploded inside. In the emptiness it left behind, he felt lost. Abandoned. Suspended in motion, floating between choices.

All lives reach this point sooner or later. One choice, two destinies. Two different journeys with two different end results.

This was Bobby's.

One of his destinies is well-known. Bobby stayed with Rogue, became an X-Man and eventually faced his best friend on a battlefield, fighting on opposite sides. He helped to save Alcatraz and attacked someone he knew better than himself.

In that destiny, Bobby never found real love. Never found true happiness, alone or with anybody else. He was on the side that was perceived as good, but he never got what he really wanted.

But what about the other fate? How did that start? Where did it lead? How did it end?

Two realities.

One Bobby went one way, the other went another.

Whatever happened to the other Iceman?

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Hmm… Didn't like that bit at the end, but revision has a way of frying your brain. Besides, it meant that this got finished a lot quicker (although much shorter as well). Kind of depends on what you find more important. Ah well, hopefully it'll get better.

So, I was actually amazed at how good a reaction Frozen Over got (or maybe you people have no taste. No, don't insult the reviewers…). Most people seemed to like the AU idea, so this is it. Probably won't have any heavy slash for a couple of chapters, just the kind of slash I had before (which, in my infinite wisdom, I have decided to call SlashLite). Still, be patient. And I apologise if I just put you off the entire X-Men Movie fandom with this one unbelievably short prologue and/or this author's note which may end up longer than the actual story.

Ooo, that's bad. I'm going to have to stop… Now.

…

NOW.


	2. Chapter One: More Important

**Warnings for Story:** Slash of the Bobby/John variety, very little of the actual X-Men.

**Warnings for Chapter:** Rogue appearing evil for no reason whatsoever.

* * *

**Chapter One: More Important**

For a moment, St. John Allerdyce thought he was going to die.

Not that he hadn't been expecting an attack. He'd left the apparent safety of the X-Jet, deliberately gone towards where he knew there was danger. But he hadn't expected _this_, especially out in the open snow, far from the facility.

But there he was. He had fallen down as the first waves of the assault had reached him, and now lay there, pinned down by the sheer force of the onslaught.

He felt crushed to the ground, as if the mental attack had become physical, pushing him into the snow. Vaguely he registered the feeling of water soaking through his clothes as his unnaturally high body temperature melted it in seconds, but any unpleasantness was easily blacked out by the much larger distraction.

Wildly, thoughts began to ricochet around his mind, as if searching for a way out. What was happening? Had something gone wrong? Who was doing this? Whose side were they on? Why were they targeting him? Were they going to kill him?

Questions, questions, questions. And not an answer in sight.

It was strange. He had always thought that when he died, he'd see his life flashing before his eyes, the same way everyone supposedly did. His mother, her funeral, his father, the three step-mothers, one right after the other, the fire, the school…

Instead, he just kept brief glimpses of blonde hair. And cold.

Then, without anything, it stopped. The pain vanished. The piercing noise cut out. His mind stopped screaming.

He lay there, breathing heavily. He didn't want to move, but the instinct that had always kept him one step ahead was nagging at him, pulling him to his feet_. You don't want to still be here if it comes back,_ it whispered. _Get away from here. See if there's somewhere to hide. Go!_

Just for a second, he paused. This was the same feeling that had made him leave in the first place. It had told him to go out, to look for Magneto, to find the man who could help him…

He hadn't wanted to go. Not alone. Not leaving Bobby behind.

That had hurt. Walking away from his best friend, knowing it was goodbye but not being able to say so. It pulled at something deeper than he had expected, some emotion that was deeper than he had ever felt before.

That feeling had almost been enough to make him stay. Or, if not, to make him say something, to make a final farewell.

Almost.

But the instinct had called and it was impossible for him to resist.

All the same, it felt wrong out here alone. As he looked around, getting his bearings, trying not to step in the puddle his body had created, he half-expected to see Bobby standing there.

It had always been the two of them. They'd sworn to stay together, just one week after they'd first met. And now one of them had stayed and one of them was walking away, probably forever.

He shivered, although he didn't know what from.

It wasn't from the cold though. Pyro didn't feel the cold.

* * *

Bobby lay curled-up on the floor, pressing his cheek against the freezing metal. It was a connection to the physical world, a distraction from what had just torn through his mind, ripping through his thoughts as if they just didn't matter.

Next to him, he heard Rogue sit up. "Bobby?"

"Yeah?" Strange. He could see his breath. That wasn't normal. Was the heating on the blink?

"What _was _that?"

"I don't know. But I do know that I don't want it to happen again." Come to think of it, he _felt_ cold than usual.

"You think I feel any different?" He heard her shifting around, a brief pause, then a sudden intake of breath.

"What is it?" he asked, turning over to look at her. She was leaning away from him slightly, holding her hand close to her chest and staring at him. "Bobby… You're _cold_."

He smiled, even though it felt forced. "That's why they call me Iceman, remember?"

"No… Really cold. Colder than normal." Her gaze shifted across slightly. "You need proof? What happened to your hand?"

He looked.

There was his hand, same place as always, nothing missing. However, it was also slightly frosted over, the way it got whenever he used his powers.

Except he hadn't. Not intentionally, at least.

He stood up suddenly, too startled to even notice the slight light-headedness. "That's not right. I didn't do anything… I didn't even want to, so why…" He trailed off.

"What were you feeling?"

"Huh? What's that got to do with anything?"

She used a chair to pull herself up. "Remember what Storm said in that lesson last week? Our powers get controlled by our emotions just as much as our thoughts. You might not have been thinking about anything, but maybe…well…you felt something that worked the same way."

He frowned, thinking back. He'd been in pain, but that didn't seem enough to mean that he could still feel the effects. What had it been? Was it something bad, or was it just that it was still relevant?

Then he remembered. "John."

Rogue looked confused, "What about him?"

It was all coming back now, everything he'd realised whilst he'd been lying there. As it did, he could feel himself growing colder, could see more of his skin frosting…

"John's gone to Magneto. We're not going to see him again. Not as a friend."

She took a step back, mainly to get away from the plummeting temperature around him. "So?"

He stared at her. "Rogue, he's one of us. And he's going to the other side."

"Not that I don't care, Bobby, but isn't that his choice?"

Why couldn't she understand? After everything that had happened to them, he couldn't believe that she could be so…cold.

When he didn't say anything, she walked over to the front of the jet. "I'm sorry, but John's been changing for a while now. Is it really our business who he decides to be with? He's made it clear that he doesn't want to be with us."

That cut deeper than she had clearly intended. "You mean me."

"What?"

"John's my best friend. You're saying that I should just abandon him?"

She looked back at him, "Bobby, he's made his choice. You can accept that and stay here, where you belong, or you can't and go hear it from him first-hand."

There were only a few metres between them. It felt more like a hundred miles.

Just for a moment, Bobby hesitated. Then he shook his head, turned and pressed the button to lower the ramp.

"Bobby?"

He ignored her, walking down and out into the snow, leaving icy footprints behind him on the metal.

"Bobby!"

He turned around, to see her standing at the top of the ramp, looking down at him. He wondered what he had ever seen in her. Was she really worth losing his best friend?

"I've made my choice, Rogue. Sorry it wasn't the one you wanted."

Then he walked out into the snow, away from her.

And towards John.­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

* * *

Pyro stopped as he came out of the forest. A helicopter was taking off from the bottom of the hill, and he recognised the flash of blue skin inside the cockpit.

'_Missed them.'_

He sighed, just standing there and watching his hope fly away. Magneto had seemed to care about what Pyro did, or at least what he did with his powers. He'd left his best friend to join him.

And now it looked like he'd have to go back. Face the people who knew that he'd tried to betray them.

But that wasn't even true. He wasn't trying to betray anybody. He didn't want to be remembered as some modern-day Judas. He just wanted to do what he wanted, away from the Professor.

The helicopter suddenly stopped in mid-air. It paused, and then started to descend once more. John stared at it, hardly daring to hope…

Until it landed and Magneto stepped out. The mutant looked up at him, appearing slightly impatient. "We don't have all day, Pyro."

Pyro. His real name.

Not John. Definitely not St. John Allerdyce.

John lived in the mansion. John's life was controlled by the Professor. John wasn't free.

John would have stayed with Bobby.

But Pyro couldn't.

A small smile crossed his face. He hadn't missed his chance after all.

At first, he walked slowly, calmly down the slope. Then his speed picked up, so that by the time he stopped he was almost running.

Magneto just turned to go back inside. Pyro caught hold of the doorframe, about to pull himself in after the other mutant.

"John!"

He frowned. That voice was so achingly familiar, it was unmistakeable. But it couldn't be…

"John!"

He spun around, expecting to see nothing, to discover it had just been his imagination.

But it wasn't.

Bobby Drake was running down the slope towards him. He was skidding slightly, probably from the speed, but managed to stay upright. That wasn't too surprising. He was in his element, after all.

But what was he doing there?

Bobby slid to a stop in front of him, breathing heavily. John stared at him, then flinched as his friend grabbed his by the shoulders. Not at the contact, in a way that felt right. But at the cold.

He could feel it through his shirt, as if Bobby's hands had turned to ice. When had he got this cold? Was his power going into overload in the snow?

"John…" Bobby breathed out shakily. "You can't go with him."

John's hand tensed around the doorframe. Bobby had come after him just because he wanted to bring him back? Was that the only reason he had come?

"Why not?"

"Because…" He looked lost for words. It seemed he hadn't thought this through at all. He lowered his head, closing his eyes, apparently thinking. Then John jumped slightly as he heard him whisper, "Because you'd leave me."

John felt torn. He reached out to touch Bobby's shoulder, gritting his teeth as the frosty temperature bit into him, as if he was touching pure ice, but at the same time he was gripping the door frame of the helicopter so hard that it cut into his hand.

"Bobby…I don't _want_ to leave you. But apart from you, what is there for me back there? No one trusts me. Do you really think they'll ever let me be one of them after what I did to those cops?"

His friend shivered, but he knew it wasn't from the cold. He'd known Bobby long enough to recognise the difference between temperature and emotion.

Then Bobby opened his eyes and looked back up at him. His expression made John flinch. There was a determination in those eyes icier than he had ever seen before.

"Then I'll go with you."

For a moment, he thought he'd misheard, that hope was affecting his hearing, twisting Bobby's words into what he wanted to hear. "What?"

"I said I'll go with you."

"But what about—"

"The others?" He was serious. He was actually serious about what he was saying. "I don't care about them.

"Rogue?" This couldn't be happening. He had to be dreaming.

"What about her? John, weren't you listening? I don't care about any of them even half as much as I care about you."

There was a long silence as John frantically tried to think of something to say and Bobby wished he had kept his mouth shut. It was eventually broken in a way that neither of them had expected.

"And what about what you have been taught to think?" Magneto asked, watching them from inside. Rather than looking amused at the very idea of two of Xavier's' pupils joining him, his expression was deadly serious.

"Charles doesn't raise his pupils to agree with me. If you truly wish to join us, you will have to forget everything he has ever told you about _them_. Do you believe that your friendship more important?"

Bobby nodded. "Yes."

"Really." It was a statement, not a question. He walked towards them. "What do you call yourself?"

"Bo—" He stopped as he saw Magneto raise an eyebrow. "Iceman."

"Pyro and Iceman." The mutant smiled, more to himself than to them.

"Welcome to the Brotherhood."

* * *

Author's Notes: #collapses in a heap# Gah! Did it! I managed to type it all up before I go to Spain! This does mean that the next update will take a while, since I probably won't do much, if any, writing whilst I'm out there. Too busy avoiding the heat…

So, Chapter One. This one came out much easier than Chapter Two is, so I was actually quite surprised by how much of it there actually was. It's just slightly longer than Frozen Over, for God's sake! Ah well, I'm not complaining.

Hmm… This chapter was only supposed to have SlashLite, but that last bit went much slashier than I was expecting it too… Yes, I don't know what I'm going to write. You got a problem with that?

Eep. Have to go pack. Hopefully see you guys (in the metaphorical sense) soon…


	3. Chapter Two: Aftermath

**Warnings for Story:** Slash of the Bobby/John variety, very little of the actual X-Men.

**Warnings for Chapter:** Some incredibly random bits, some bad writing, still no Bobby/John action

**Chapter Two: Aftermath**

Wolverine looked around as he entered the X-Jet. "Hey, where's your boyfriend?"

Rogue was still shaking from her attempt to fly. "I don't know… He went after John."

"Pyro? Logan raised an eyebrow. "And where the hell is he?"

She shook her head, as if trying to get something out of it. "Bobby said something about Magneto. I think he went to stop John going with him."

Logan looked up at Storm, standing at the front of the cockpit. "Let's hope he manages it."

Ororo nodded, seeing the look. "Agreed. We have enough trouble already without Magneto gaining John's powers."

Behind them, Jean Grey stumbled on the ramp. Scott steadied her, worried. "You okay."

She frowned. "It's Bobby. And John, for that matter. Both of them."

Rogue turned to look at her, eyes wide. "Is Bobby okay?"

"Magneto." The telepath swallowed, trying to block out the emotions emanating from the pair. "They've joined Magneto."

"What, both of them?" Wolverine asked, startled.

Jean nodded. "John didn't want to come back. So Bobby went with him."

* * *

Bobby stared out of the window as the helicopter lifted away. He squinted, trying to see the dam clearer. Was it just him or was it looking…cracked?

"Am I really worth it?"

He glanced down, distracted, to see John looking up at him. The fire-shaper was sitting on the floor with his back to the window, flicking his lighter on and off. Clearly something was bothering him.

"Worth what?" He had a feeling that he already knew what his friend meant, but it was always more important to hear it directly, without any dramatic spins on it.

"Worth leaving all of them. The teachers, the Professor…Rogue…" He seemed reluctant to say her name, as if it left a sour taste in his mouth.

"It's a little late to be asking, isn't it?" Now he was curious, not entirely sure where John was going with this.

"Bobby, you left your whole life behind. You could have a home…Friends…"

"I've got you, haven't I?" He forced a smile, trying to lighten the mood.

John just looked away. "You could have a girlfriend."

He paused, thrown off by this statement. He frantically tried to think of something off-hand, as if he'd already thought about this in great detail. "I think I can safely say that we've broken up."

In a strange way, even said as a joke, it felt satisfying to be able to say those words. As if they made it real.

Or maybe it was just saying those words to John.

His friend stared at him. Whilst his expression didn't change, Bobby could tell he was surprised. He'd stopped clicking his lighter.

"…You're being very calm about this," he finally managed to mutter, perhaps just to himself.

The sudden silence left by the absence of that constant clicking began to make Bobby nervous. "Yeah, well, would you prefer it if I burst into tears? Started screaming?"

"I just think you should be showing _some_ emotion." John stood up, unintentionally bringing their faces slightly closer than personal boundaries usually allowed. "You just joined the opposite side to what I know you've always believed in. You've left your girlfriend behind. You've left _everyone_ behind. And you just act like everything's normal?"

"What were you expecting?"

He hesitated, and then looked down at the floor. "I don't know. I never expected you to do this."

"You never expected your best friend to come after you? You never expected the one guy who knows you maybe better than you do to stay with you?" Bobby was almost yelling by the end, calm sarcasm quickly turning into anger.

Something in the tone made Pyro's temper flare up. "No, I never expected the perfect Iceman to abandon his perfect life with his perfect girlfriend and his perfect X-Men to patronise his messed up roommate with his messed up powers and his messed up life!"

Bobby took a step back, but it wasn't from fear. John could feel himself growing hotter, as if his anger had set off a chain reaction in his powers. He tried to control it, to bring his temperature back down to normal, but it was harder than he expected.

His friend watched him warily. "You okay?"

He took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. "I'm fine. It's just…"

"This hasn't been a normal day?" Bobby completed the sentence, smiling as he still tried to make it all sound like a joke.

Pyro looked unimpressed by this. "Well…No. We don't go changing sides everyday."

"Hey, it was your idea. If you want to change your mind…"

"I can't." That was it. End of story.

Bobby raised his eyebrows at the short response. "That's it? You just can't?"

"I can't go back. Not now."

"Why not?"

John opened his mouth to tell him, but then stopped. There was no real reason why not. Not one he could explain to someone who didn't understand. It was what he could and couldn't do, that was all.

With a sigh, Bobby turned away as he saw the look on his friend's face. "Fine. Just remember that I'm here when you need me." Then he added under his breath, "_If_ you need me."

* * *

Magneto watched them from the cockpit. "What do you see when you look at them, my dear?"

Mystique glanced at him. "What do _you _see?"

He didn't look amused or annoyed at her turning his question back at him. "I can see so many things, and none of them match."

"Two little lost boys. Two people looking for something to give their lives meaning." A small smile appeared on her face. "Whatever they are, they're powerful."

"But will they use that power?" he mused, not looking at her.

"Pyro seems more than willing."

"But what of his Iceman? Did you ever see him use his powers?"

It didn't take much thought. "No."

"Neither did I." Yes, Iceman was a mystery. He had expected the young mutant to become one of Charles' X-Men. All of the signs were there: A blindness to the world; a certain naïveté; an unwillingness to use his powers when it mattered, to do the right thing.

All in all, not someone he had expected to join his Brotherhood.

"Maybe he's afraid of them," Mystique suggested, cutting into his thoughts.

"Does he really seem like the type who would fear something so trivial? No, he doesn't use them when he doesn't believe they are necessary."

"Then how is he supposed to be of any use?"

He sat in the seat next to her, turning his gaze away from the two mutants. "He will be, my dear. You can be certain of that. He just needs the right…motivation."

* * *

In her last moments of this life, the Phoenix broke free.

Even as the water rushed towards her, thousands of tendrils of telepathic energy spread out from her mind, winding their way away from her. Given enough time, she could have reached the entire world, but she didn't have that time. She had seconds.

The X-Jet. She sent Jean's last farewells, knowing every reaction before the thoughts had even reached their destination.

William Stryker. She felt his fear of the death flowing closer to him; his shame at being defeated by the mutants he had controlled and treated as slaves; his hatred of Wolverine for walking away from him forever.

Fear and hatred. They awoke something inside her, something that would take time before it saw the light of day. Some part of those emotions inspired something deep inside her…

Then her mind reached the helicopter.

Mystique. Calm, in control, slightly puzzled by Magneto's decision to take in two of Xavier's pupils.

Magneto. Plotting, as always, constantly plotting. Adding fresh details to his strategy, accounting for new elements. In particular, the part which the two teenagers would play in his plans.

John. An inferno in every sense of the word. So many emotions, all bubbling and boiling together. Confusion, determination, anger, hatred… And something other, lurking just beneath it all, hidden from everything except her. Some emotion he didn't know about, or didn't want to admit existed.

Bobby. Questions, but not those expected by anyone. No wondering about whether he had done the right thing, just trying to work out what to do next. Further in, certain thoughts and memories seemed protected, as if by ice. Hiding them from others… Or from himself?

She could feel the water closing in on her as fire leapt up around her. Over the years, she had learnt that you couldn't fight the elements. You could try, but they always got what they wanted in the end.

Fire around her body. It would preserve her, let her be reborn. This fire wanted new life. And this time _she_ would be in control.

Water crashing at her barrier. It wanted to run its course, restore the balance, become calm once more.

Fire and ice in her mind, recoiling from her mental touch even as she brushed against them. The fire wanted to burn, to consume, to reach its goal. The ice wanted things to become how they should be, to break down the barricades which separated lives from what should be.

Fire is passion. Emotion. She felt that, both in her body and in her mind. She had chosen her name to represent those feelings, to sum up her whole being with that burning.

Burning in the mind is different to burning in the body. You don't feel pain. Phoenix felt as if it was giving her energy, fueling her powers as it spread though them.

She could sense that Pyro's fire was different, though. Hers was a symbol, a metaphor for a larger mental power that she couldn't describe otherwise. She had to use only similar feelings, experiences and images.

Pyro's fire was elemental. It controlled him just as much as he controlled it. More. His very thoughts were made of fire, his emotions and strengthened and enhanced by those which it unleashed.

No hiding from that fire. No concealing what you felt. Thoughts couldn't be blocked, emotions couldn't be resisted.

Fire is not patient. If it wants something, it will take it. S human being, finding himself thinking like that…

She knew she could never understand. Her fire was too different.

Ice was just as much of a mystery. If she couldn't understand the flames that had inspired her, how could she ever even start to comprehend their opposite?

Ice is mystery. Ice reflects the light that seeks to reveal what lies inside. It conceals what it wishes to remain unknown. It lets nothing escape. Nothing that it doesn't want others to know. No clues, no hints.

No emotions.

Dead bodies can be preserved in ice for thousands of years. Once it seizes hold of something, it never lets it go. Not willingly, at least. Not even when it held the entire planet. There was an Ice Age, when it ruled everything and was present everywhere. It ended, but the ice still wants what it used to have.

Possessive. Hidden. Quiet. Powerful.

Phoenix had known Bobby through Jean. As with all of those she had encountered, she sensed thoughts and emotions, not looks and voices. She knew Bobby was nothing like the ice in his mind.

But she also knew how tempting it was to give in. To break down that wall separating him from his powers. To let the ice freeze him.

Such different elements. Minds with almost nothing in common. So why were they drawn together?

Opposites attract, but in this case they also destroyed each other. Fire was frozen and ice was melted. But maybe that was the reason. Both of them needed that control, that feeling. John was controlled by his powers too much for comfort and Bobby was afraid of what he was capable of.

Besides, there was always that something else, hidden away in their minds, where even they couldn't see it.

They needed each other.

But would they ever truly realise how much?

She allowed herself one last smile. You couldn't fight the elements. She knew that. Soon they would too.

And the waves crashed over her.

* * *

Water rushing over flames, not true flames, putting them out, death, no more fire, no more burning, rushing, rushing, burning…

John reeled, hands going to his head. Nothing had happened, he hadn't done anything, but there was something in his head. Something that shouldn't be there. There was a steadily growing pain that tore through his thoughts. He felt fire rising, but there wasn't any to control, so it turned inside instead, making his mind catch fire…

He didn't notice when he fell to the floor, or when the pain spread to his body. Bobby was yelling his name, but he couldn't hear him over the burning. He didn't know what was going on, only that for some reason some part of him was screaming that _something had happened…_

Then he felt cold, a sensation so alien it made him gasp. Not just a slight drop in temperature either, but as if ice had just touched him. It started just on his forehead, but then waves of it began to spread throughout the rest of him.

Dimly, as his conscious mind resurfaced for a moment, he realised that first touch of ice was a hand. Bobby's hand.

That last thought managed to make him open his eyes, albeit weakly. Bobby was leaning over him, apparently saying something, although John couldn't hear the words. One of his friend's hands was on his forehead, whilst the other was moving to take his hand.

The fire was dying now, returning to where it had come from. A brief, insane laugh escaped his lips. Fire melted ice, it always did, but here it was, running scared, scared of a little cold, almost nothing…

He drifted into unconsciousness.

* * *

Bobby exhaled slowly, trying to calm down. Gently he let go of John's hand, though a little reluctantly, and moved away. He hadn't been surprised to see steam rise when he'd touched it. His friend had been so _hot_…

"What happened to him?"

He jumped, not expecting to hear Magneto's voice from behind him. "I don't know. He just fell."

There was a slight pause as he heard the mutant walk to the window. "Charles's X-Men have gone to lick their wounds." He could sense that gaze turn back to him. "Time for us to do the same. We have made our point. We have won this battle, whatever the price has been."

He only half-heard, his attention taken up by John, still lying there. He looked so innocent, so unlike the John that he'd known for so long.

Something shifted in his head and a faint blush reached his face. This John still had the same effect on him as ever.

But why?

* * *

**Author's Notes:** …Excuse whilst I scream in pain. #does so, running into as many walls as can find# Think I'm over-reacting? Maybe slightly, but not as much as you might think. Seriously, I _hate_ this chapter. It started off okay… Then I got writer's block… And got all thoughtsy… Then added the Phoenix bit (probably one of the most random bits I've ever written)… Then pretended I hadn't, until I had to type it all up…

You know the best bit? I now have to work that Phoenix bit into the plot somehow. Because just having it there annoys me. One of these days, I'm going to come back to this chapter and I'm going to do some serious rewriting. Such as trying to cut down that whole section (it goes on for over two A4 pages!).

Meh. I think there are two main problem I had with this chapter, which just got worse:

Trying to continue after the first chapter has never been my strong point. Notice a slight (read: huge) delay in updating? That would be why.

My plot-bunnies and slash-bunnies got into a bit of a punch-up. The plot-bunnies are responsible for…the plot parts, and the slash-bunnies just got involved in the Bobby-John scenes. The Phoenix scene is just one huge battleground.

…Oh dear god. This has turned into a massive self-pity rampage. Seriously, I'm okay with this chapter. There are actually some bits I quite like. I'm just in a kinda bad mood. Ah well. Hopefully it'll get better. Well, actually, I've almost finished writing the third chapter, so I _know_ it gets at least slightly better.

I'm just going to post this now. Please don't kill me!


	4. Chapter Three: Adapting

**Warnings for Story:** Slash of the Bobby/John variety.

**Warnings for Chapter:** Return of the X-Men, some rather random stuff with clicking, psychopathic Magneto.

**Chapter Three: Adapting**

Click.

Click.

Click.

Sometimes John didn't even notice when he was fiddling with his lighter. He was used to it being there, and he was used to playing with it. A habit so old that he hardly registered it anymore.

Click.

Click.

Click.

If there was someone he wanted to annoy, he would start doing it deliberately. It was always fun to watch their expressions as they tried so hard not to yell at him. None of them ever wanted to, especially in front of others, knowing how stupid it sounded. So they would just sit there, their patience slowly being worn away, bit by bit.

Click.

Click.

Click.

However, if he got nervous, the tempo would pick up. He never liked to wait or know that there was nothing he could do. There were few things that made him feel as angry or as scared as being helpless. Powerless. Just to feel like he was doing something, he would focus on that constant, instinctive clicking.

Click.

Click.

Click.

At the moment, it was all he could think about. He didn't let his mind wander, _couldn't_ let it wander, because there was only one topic it would go to. Only one person. And then the worrying would start again. The feeling of helplessness at a level he hadn't felt since he was a scared little child hiding from Daddy.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Magneto had said that John had already proved himself, as if torching those cops had been some sick and twisted idea of a test. It showed what he was willing to do with his powers, with no question of what he could do or whether he would do it.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Bobby on the other hand… Before Alkali Lake and everything else, back when their lives seemed so simple, Magneto's only experience of him had been through Mystique taking his form to reach Rogue. He only knew of his powers, he had never seen them used. And his loyalties were still questionable.

Click.

Click.

Click.

That was what John was waiting for. With supposedly only one spare room at the Brotherhood's headquarters, they'd had to share, but he had his doubts about whether that was the real reason. Still, he couldn't think about it. True, he had nothing to do but wait for the two mutants to finish whatever it was they were doing, but he couldn't think too much. Especially about that.

Click.

Click.

Click.

He didn't even know what they were doing in there. He knew Bobby's powers were being tested in some way, but how? Was he going to get hurt? What would happen to him if he failed whatever test Magneto chose?

Click.

Click.

Click.

Magneto wouldn't kill him, would he? If he couldn't go through with it? John had been waiting for his friend to leave him ever since this insane idea had been suggested, but he'd never really thought about what would actually happen.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Oh God. Was Bobby going to die because of him?

* * *

Rogue sat on the edge of the sofa, staring at the television but not seeming to take any of the movie in. She could have been anywhere, doing anything, and she would have still had the same expression.

Logan watched her from the doorway. He watched as several students tried to talk to her, only to give up when they received no response. He watched as a steadily widening gap formed between her and everyone else, until she was sitting alone in the centre of an empty ring.

She didn't even react to that isolation. The Marie he knew would have done something; moved somewhere else; talked to somebody; talked to _him_. Her powers already made her feel so alone that she would normally do anything to stop it being complete.

But now she just sat there, staring into space as if no one else existed.

It was painful. He cared about Rogue, more than anybody else at the school. He had never wanted to see her get hurt, and especially not like this.

He hadn't known which was worse: Losing Jean at Alkali Lake to that solid wall of water, or losing Marie to this incredibly blankness. But at that precise moment, he knew the answer.

He would rather see Jean die all over again than watch Rogue suffer in silence for one more day.­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­

* * *

"What do we do now, Professor?" Storm asked, supposedly sitting calmly in a chair in his office. However, you didn't have to be a telepath to sense the waves of worry emanating from her.

"About what, Ororo?" Xavier asked, looking at up at her. His expression was sad and troubled, as if everything he had ever feared had come to pass.

"Magneto. The President. Alkali Lake…_Everything_."

He sighed, moving away from his desk. "We have already visited the President. The next move is up to him, not us. If we appear to be trying to influence him too much, it will all backfire and we could end up facing that ridiculous Registration Act again.

"As for Eric, he will have gone into hiding, just as all of us have. Whilst he has not suffered any heavy losses, he will still need time to regroup." He gave a small, sad smile. "Remember, despite everything that has happened in the last few days, he still only escaped very recently. He will need time to recover."

"And what about Rogue?" Wolverine asked from the doorway, not bothering to announce his presence any other way.

Storm looked confused. "I thought she was alright."

"So did I, but she's not. She's just sitting there like she's dead."

The Professor watched him, as if considering if he was telling the truth. Then he closed his eyes and cast about for the mind in question. When he found it, her thoughts surprised him.

"She's torn between so many emotions," he said slowly, frowning as he tried to get a clearer image of her feelings. "She wants to be an X-Man, but at the same time, she wonders if she deserves to be one."

Logan took a step towards him, arms raised as if he wanted to fight the mere idea. "Why would she think that?"

A pause as Xavier scanned for the answer, not wanting to delve too deep without permission. Finally, he opened his eyes wearily and sat still for a moment, for the first time showing how old and tired he truly was. "She believes that Robert left because of her. That she somehow drove him away."

"But that's ridiculous," Ororo exclaimed. "He left to go after John. That's what Jean told us, remember?" Then she realised what she had said. She turned to Logan to try to apologise, but he just shook his head.

"Jeannie's dead. I'm going to have to get used to that sooner or later." Then his momentary look of sadness turned back into anger. "But I don't have to get used to what that kid is doing to Rogue."

"It was his choice, Logan. You can't change that," Xavier insisted.

"What difference does _that_ make?"

"You can't blame him for choosing something which you don't agree with. You can only accept it."

Wolverine scowled. "The hell I do." Then he turned and stalked out of the room.

The Professor sighed, letting his head drop forwards slightly. "He doesn't understand," he muttered, more to himself than to anybody else. "He doesn't understand what Robert and John _are_."

Storm leant forwards in her chair, confused and at the same time intrigued. "And what are they?"

"They're mutants, naturally. But on an entirely different level to any others I've ever encountered." He looked up at her, face finally showing a ghost of a smile. "You are the only one has even come close."

"Me?" She was surprised, that was obvious, but there was also a hint of suspicion, as if he could be just saying that to make her feel special.

"You control the weather, which is similar to the pure elements. However, it is not quite so powerful…" He paused, worry clear in his expression. "And it does not control you."

Slowly, she rose to her feet. "Are you saying that both Bobby and John are just being controlled by their powers?"

"Not at first, or particularly at the moment. But it will happen eventually."

"How do you know?"

"It has already started to happen to John. I hoped that I could help him, but I'm afraid that is now impossible." He sighed. "It seems I have not been as prepared for events as I thought."

"You couldn't have seen this coming. Not all of it." She hesitated, as if thinking of other things, other times, then finished. "No one could."

"But I did see the signs. Jason and his father. Erik's imprisonment. John's slow loss of control. His and Robert's connection through their powers. Their relationship."

She raised an eyebrow. "Relationship? What are you implying, Professor?"

Once again, a smile found its way onto his face, though the emotion behind it was unclear. "You don't have to be psychic, Ororo. You just have to see them together.

"There's something there which is deciding all of this, and they are the only ones who can control it."

* * *

For a long time, neither of them said a word. The silence seemed almost solid, as if it would crush any attempt to speak.

The teenager, true to his age, was fidgeting, clearly uncomfortable with the situation. He kept glancing from point to another, barely taking in any of what he saw. His hands were firmly clasped together in an attempt to keep them still, but every now and again they gave a small, involuntary twitch.

The older man watched him from his seat behind a large metal desk. Unlike his companion, he seemed to be perfectly calm and composed. He wasn't moving at all, not even seeming to be breathing. Even though the boy had been facing him the whole time, he could have easily believed that he was dead.

The silence stretched longer and longer as the minutes passed, and only became heavier and heavier. The younger man began to chew his lip as he tried even harder to calm down. His whole body was tense and the smallest of noises could have made him practically jump through the roof.

He tasted something warm and slightly metallic on his tongue. Blood. He'd bitten right through his lip. He swallowed on reflex as he felt more trickle inside his mouth, then grimaced and tried not to think about what it was.

Watching this, Magneto finally spoke. "Can you do what is necessary?"

Bobby blinked at him, so surprised by the sudden speech that he seemed to forget how to respond. Then, whilst trying to surreptitiously wipe his lip, he managed to stammer out, "N—Necessary? For what?"

"For the Brotherhood. You agreed to forget what Charles has taught you, but can you let yourself do the opposite?" He stood up, looking down at the other mutant. "Can you use your talents against _them_?"

There was something about his emphasis on the word them, the way he almost spat it out, that left no doubt as to who he meant.

"I…" Bobby looked down, shoulders slumping. "I don't know."

"Really." Magneto watched him, as if deciding what to do with some apparently useless piece of rubbish that still had something left which he could use. "Tell me, do you ever use those talents of yours for anything other than showing off?"

"Showing off?" The blonde looked both surprised and annoyed by this comment. "I don't show off! John—" He stopped, realising he had gone slightly too far.

"Pyro? Pyro shows off, but you don't?" A small smile of the type normally given to toddlers when they've been very silly. "There's more than one way to show off. Not all of them involve setting fire to police cars."

He leant forwards slightly, hands resting on the desk. "You've probably made small, insignificant displays. Nothing too special or taxing, just enough to impress a girl."

Bobby flinched. This sounded too familiar for comfort.

Magneto noticed the reaction and smiled to himself. _'Charles, what have you been teaching these children?'_

He leant even further forwards to emphasise his point. "A waste both of time and your abilities."

"And what isn't?" Bobby heard himself ask, as if it was someone else speaking. "Killing'? Destroying everything you can?"

"Is that what you believe I do?" A pause, a slight widening of the smile. "Or just what Charles has led you to believe I do?"

No response to that. No matter what he said, he'd either be lying or betraying someone close to him.

'_Not that that's' anything new for me,'_ he found himself thinking before he could stop himself. He grabbed his head, trying to block out the thought, and slowly stepped away from the desk, trying to put some distance between it and him.

After pause, during which Bobby still didn't speak, Magneto stepped around from behind the desk. "It seems that you are far less fixed than you believe yourself to be. Perhaps not all of those lessons in your head are useless pacifism. Perhaps time that Charles could have spent on that was actually spent on something far more useful for yourself. For the Brotherhood. For those talents of yours."

Bobby had been so distracted by his conflicting thoughts that he'd missed the flick of the other mutant's eyes to a point behind him. He did, however, hear a faint sound, which was the only warning he got.

It was also the only thing that saved his life.

As he heard a quiet scraping from behind him, he turned enough to glance over his shoulder.

Then dropped to the ground as a shard of metal shot towards him.

Magneto casually raised a hand, stopping the metal before him. "You won't always be able to avoid those problems of yours."

A second and third piece of metal rose up, one from either side of the room.

"There will be too many to dodge."

As the three shards shot towards him. Bobby pushed himself to his feet and ran for the only shelter he could see: The desk.

"You won't be able to run."

As the apparent safety grew closer, Bobby could didn't hear the three pieces split apart with a sickening wrenching sound, becoming six, then twelve.

"Those problems will only multiply for as long as you ignore them."

He leapt forwards, managing to roll under the desk just as the shards whistled overhead. He felt a breeze as they passed, but he seemed safe. For now. Breathing heavily, trying to calm down, he yelled out, "Are you insane?"

Magneto seemed not to hear him, instead raising his hands slowly, as if lifting something. "You won't be able to hide from them."

With a shudder, the desk began to rise into the air, leaving Bobby out in the open. It paused for a moment, then plummeting back down towards him. With a yell, he managed roll out of the way just in time, hearing it crash behind him.

"Wherever you hide, it will just work against you."

Bobby wasn't listening. He was too busy running, dodging as each shard fired itself at him and constantly aware of the added danger of the hovering desk. If Magneto chose to fling it at him again…

"Sooner or later, you will find that there is nowhere to hide."

Dead end. He found himself pressed against a wall, with no escape. Somehow the shards had managed to circle around, so that they surrounded him in a deadly semi-circle. Thee was still a reasonable distance between them and him, but he knew that just meant they could pick up momentum before slicing through him…

"Sooner or later, you will have to make a stand and fight them."

He could see his breath, a cold mist hovering before his mouth. Breathing out cold air… That meant it was denser, he could remember the Professor saying that.

Things moved slower when it was colder.

"Or, eventually, they will destroy you."

A movement of a hand, and the shard leapt forwards as if from a gun.

In almost the same instant, Bobby threw his own hand out, resisting the urge to close his eyes. Cold air gusted out, cold enough to freeze almost anything.

It struck the shards head on, spreading out to cover them all. Almost immediately, they began to freeze over, small veins of ice spreading out across them like a growing plant.

The chill air alone began to make them slow down, wavering as the air became denser, colder. Then they began to drop lower and lower as the forming ice made them heavier.

Finally, with a metallic crash, they fell to the ground and lay there.

A second passed, then another. Then Bobby's legs gave out from under him and he slumped to the floor.

Magneto's eyes flicked from the shards, frozen over, to the exhausted teenager, to the still-hovering desk. With a small smile, he motioned with his hand and the circling furniture crashed to the ground. Startled, Bobby looked up at him.

"This lesson is over," the older mutant announced, turning his back on his companion. "You are free to go."

Bobby lay there for a moment longer, staring at Magneto's back, thinking of a hundred questions to ask him. Then, slowly, achingly, he began to pull himself to his feet and stagger towards the door.

"But be ready."

He flinched and looked back, expecting more metal, almost expecting the whole floor to rise up to attack him. When nothing happened, the words emerged as if from someone else.

"What for?"

In answer, Magneto turned his head just enough to show that terrifying smile.

"What always follows a lesson, Iceman?"

The smile grew wider and, to the observer, even more frightening.

"A test."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Oh God… #collapses on keyboard# That last half a page or so… You ever forgotten how to type? I think that has to be the only explanation. Either that or I have faulty hands and will have to go to the hand shop. Again. And why did Edward Scissorhands just start playing in my head?

So, you guys might have noticed that the previous warnings of very little of the actual X-Men have been ignored, and for this I apologise. At some point I may even go back and change it. Later. Why did they get in? Because every author needs a group to fall back on during writer's block…

I also realise I haven't replied to any reviews yet. This is a _bad thing_, since I love reviews and you guys may think I don't love you. Which I do. In the platonic sense. Mostly.

ANYWAY, I'll just put replies to all my reviews so far in here, then do them by chapter. Sorry guys! Please don't hate me! Pleeeaase…Ooo, that sounded annoying. Please don't be annoyed!

Sparxxa: Wheehee! First review! Hopefully this won't just be implied…

Mari: Yay! I'm not the only one who thought that! Thankees!

Love-chibis: And rest you shall have! …But with better grammar, all being well.

Akari-hayashi: Interesting? Is that bad? Or good? I dunno…

Audrey Midnight: Whoop! #hug# First to review Chappie Two! And yup, Spain was brilliant. Even if I did have the roommate from hell… But hey! You don't want to know about that… Seriously, you don't. I can go on about it for ages…

:-D: Nice name! And yes, I'm continuing, it's a miracle…

Dragon shadows: Glad you think so! And here you are: More! Yay!

Ree-shee: Yeah, it took me a while, but I added more! Wootness!

JobbyShipper: Thanks, I appreciated your comments. It's true, more is better than none. And I'm sorry about the taking away from John and Bobby, but hopefully this chapter made up for it, KInda. Next chappie they may even talk to each other…

Rry: Hoorah! Another crazy person! Welcome aboard! Have a free banana! And yeah, I see your point about Phoenix coming back… Though I may make her a bit more evil than in the movie, since I thought there was a huge wasted opportunity there. But there shall still be plenty of other stuff! Really!

Mari (2): Yay! Only person to review twice! Lots of platonic love! #deep breaths, calms down# Thanks for the advice. And also for the link. You a member?

Coletterby: Glad you liked it, and I'm sorry I took so long to update!

Firerose: Yeah, I thought he'd be a lot better when not being wussy. And I'm glad you liked the Jean bits!

I'd better go now… I think my spell-checker just exploded. And I just realised… I say Yay way too often…


	5. Chapter Four: Something Different

**Warnings for Story:** Slash of the Bobby/John variety.

**Warnings for Chapter:** First majorly slashy scene, badly written slashy scene, possibly OOC Rogue, longest Author's Notes known to humanity

**Chapter Four: Something Different**

When you were a just a child, your parents used to tell you all sorts of things to make you believe that life was normal. That you should do as they said, because they had it all figured out.

_'Go back to sleep, Johnny. Your father and I were just…talking.' _

That they'd stand by you, love you, no matter how mad or twisted your life became.

_'You're my son, Bobby. Nothing can change that.' _

But as you grow up, you learn the truth. You start to see the lies for what they are. And once you've lost that innocence, it will never come back, however hard you may try.

_'Your mother's scum! She's always been scum, she'll always be scum and the only thing in this bloody world that's bloody worse is you!' _

Promises don't last forever. Your parents make them on the spur of the moment, thinking that nothing will ever change. But it always does.

_'Have you tried…not being a mutant?' _

It happens again and again, throughout your life. It doesn't stop as you grow up, or with your parents. But you always remember the first time.

_'Mum? Where are you? Mum? …Mummy?' _

And that one moment of betrayal will change you forever. There's no other way around it. Surviving is more important.

_'Then I'll go with you.' _

'_Or was that as obvious as I thought?'_ Bobby asked himself, walking down the metal-lined corridor. _'It seemed that way at the time…But really?'_

Glancing down, he saw the already forming bruises on his arms. He knew it was nothing major, despite also knowing that similar bruises were forming all over after throwing himself under that damned desk. Still, he'd felt much worse just a few days ago from that psychic—

'_Wait. A few days?'_

His thoughts ground to a halt, then frantically went into rewind, counting the memories, the hours…

'…_Barely 24 hours?'_

That couldn't be right. There was some kind of mistake. There had to be. Instinctively, he looked at his wrist to check the time, but he'd never put his watch on when Stryker had attacked the mansion.

That hadn't been so long ago either, but even more had changed since then. He'd thought that at the end of the day, his teachers and the Professor knew what was best for him. He'd believed that his parents would never turn their backs on him. He'd said that he loved Rogue and John was just his best friend.

Had any of that been true? Was that safe, secure world of teenagers and boarding school so easily shattered? Back then, you felt you were the baddest of the bad if you managed to sneak out after curfew or spoke back to a teacher. Now he was in the hideout of a group of mutant terrorists and his best friend was probably wanted for attempted murder.

'_Of my parents.'_

It was almost funny. His parents could have easily been killed and here he was, sharing a room with the person who would have done it.

'_But would I really have it any other way?'_

His parents or John? Those who raised him or his best friend?

He'd made his decision a long time ago. Before Rogue arrived, not that that was so long ago. He'd just known that he'd pick John over his family any day.

'_And doesn't that make me sound so nice?'_ Bobby thought, smiling to himself as he reached their room. He paused, listening out of habit for any loud noises, and then pushed the door open.

* * *

His hand was moving. He couldn't see it or really feel it, but he knew it was. Playing with his lighter. It never stopped, as so many people had complained.

_'Johnny?' _

The movement stopped.

_'Johnny, what are you doing down here?' _

His hand shook slightly, trembling.

_'It's not… It's not safe.' _

His eyes were wide open, staring up at the ceiling. No help there, just white blankness.

_'Don't worry, just go.' _

Of course, when you're remembering, nothing stays blank for long.

_'It's only your father.' _

He could see a pair of eyes, staring at him.

_'He's just had a bit too much to drink again, that's all.' _

Eyes just like his.

_'Nothing to worry about.' _

The rest of the face slowly began to fade in around those brown eyes.

_'Just go back upstairs.' _

Even like this, even superimposed on a ceiling, it was obvious she was frightened.

_'Go upstairs and go to sleep.' _

She?

_'Just go to bed, Johnny. I'll be right here in the morning.' _

He knew this woman, the same woman whose voice he could hear echoing in his head.

_'I'll still be here.' _

He opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was too dry. After closing it again to try to swallow, hr finally managed to whisper one small, scared word.

"Mum?"

* * *

Bobby peered around the door. "John?" He frowned, confused by the silence. There should have been _something_ coming from the room, if only the clicking of that damned lighter. "John? You here?"

"Mum?"

"Huh?" Bobby twisted his head to the side, catching sight of his friend lying on the bed. "John? It's me." When there was no answer, he added, "Bobby." He closed the door behind him, frowning as noticed the lack of reaction to his words. "You remember?"

Still no response. Even for one of John's moods, this was unusual. There should have been _some_ reaction. Some slight tensing of the shoulders, some small intake of breath. As it was, Bobby could have easily not existed at all.

Still, knowing the X-Men…

He pinched his arm quickly and tried to pass his other hand through the wall. When pain greeted both efforts, he relaxed. At least even if he didn't exist, there was enough of him there to actually hurt.

So why wouldn't John react?

Cautiously, as if approaching an escaped animal, Bobby walked across to his friend. No sudden flashes of fire appeared, so he wasn't trying to trick him. Or he just hadn't realised he was there yet.

He leant forwards slightly, trying to see the pyromaniac's face. The brunette's eyes were wide open, which made him shudder at first, before noticing his expression. A mixture of sadness, fear and…love? Subtle, maybe, but the hint of it was still there.

The fixed gaze on a point behind him made him turn automatically to look at the ceiling. Blank, as he expected. He had seen John do this once or twice before, but it hadn't lasted long, not even for a minute. He'd never asked about it then, and his friend had never mentioned it.

Bobby had always assumed that it was just a way of thinking, or maybe remembering something that was usually repressed. After all, there was an awful lot about Johns' past that Bobby didn't know.

Still, as he noticed that hint of love, however faint it was, he had to fight hard to control a sudden flash of something.

…Jealousy? No, that couldn't be right. Why would he be jealous of John?

However, even as he tried to reason the emotion into confusion or annoyance, his hands had already moved, freezing over as he pulled up his friend's shirt with one and laid the other in the centre of the pyromaniac's chest. He didn't think about how it might look to somebody else; he just moved on instinct.

The reaction was instantly satisfying. John's whole body convulsed the moment Bobby's hand touched him. His arms flailed as his legs did the same, trying to get him away but succeeding only in moving him even closer to that icy touch. That small movement also managed to knock him close enough to the edge of the bed to start to fall, a frantically waving arm managing to bring Bobby down under him.

John didn't seem to notice their awkward position, since he had his eyes closed in pain as he tried to move Bobby's hand. However, Bobby was intensely aware of the fact that he was now trapped beneath his friend's body.

His friend's very warm body…

'_I swear, even for him this is pushing it. I know he's supposed to be warmer than me, but why…Wait…'_ A faint blush reached the ice mutant's cheeks. _'Am I the one who's feeling warmer?'_

"Um…John?" he finally managed to stammer out, trying to force the blush down.

"What? You want to move your hand?" John asked irritably, wriggling in an attempt to move it himself.

'_Oh…my…'_ Bobby swallowed, wondering vaguely why feeling his friend move like that was making any thought impossible. As he shifted even further, the blonde could feel his blush worsening. _'Since when did John start—'_

The thought cut out abruptly as a sudden burst of heat made him inhale sharply. Unlike before, he was pretty sure this one was from John. Probably as a late power reaction to the ice.

"John!"

Finally, the other mutant opened his eyes. And blinked as he found Bobby's barely a few inches away. The two stared at each other for a moment, neither seeming to remember to breathe. For some reason, neither wanted to look away.

At last, John blinked hard and looked away. "We should probably get up."

Bobby swallowed again. "Yeah."

There was a long pause.

John started to look distinctly embarrassed. "Well, why don't you?"

'_Did he not…' _Bobby stared up at him. "John, you're on top of me."

He felt John's body freeze, then push itself up so fast that he could have easily injured himself. "Sorry."

Bobby sat up, rubbing the back of his head and feeling strangely disappointed. He bit his lip, trying to think of something he could actually say without mentioning anything he'd just felt. "…Don't be." That didn't seem like nearly enough, so he tried to carry on. "It was my fault."

"But I pulled you down," the brunette pointed out.

"But I'm the one who did that ice thing in the first place."

"But I…" John trailed off, frowning. "Why _did_ you do that?"

Bobby started to answer, and then stopped. Eventually he muttered, almost to himself, "I don't know."

"…You don't know?" the other mutant repeated disbelievingly. He looked down and pulled up his shirt enough to reveal a reasonably large still-melting patch of ice in the centre of his chest. "You just felt like freezing me for no reason?"

"No…I…" The blonde trailed off and sighed. "I'm not sure. It was just seeing you like that.

"Like what?" There was a hint of something other than confusion in John's voice, but Bobby was trying too frantically to think up a reason to realise what it was.

"Lying there. Staring at the…ceiling." Saying it out loud, Bobby could hear just how ridiculous it sounded. Then he glanced at John's face and felt the embarrassment worsen at the strangely blank look he was being given.

"Because I was lying in a certain way…" his friend said slowly.

"…Yes?"

The look was gaining emotion now, turning into something that was suddenly painfully familiar. "Popsicle, are you bloody kidding me?"

'_Oh no…' _Two warning signs: The particularly hateful nickname and the suddenly noticeable accent. Most of the time the latter had practically vanished, but when John got mad, there was a distinct Australian tint to everything he said.

"Um… Yes?"

No change.

"No?" _'Crap, which one's right?'_

John's expression was visibly darkening. "Make up your bloody mind!"

Bobby just stared at him at first like a rabbit in the headlights, wondering how such an extreme mood swing could happen in such a short space of time. Then, when John's hand moved towards his lighter, he jumped to his feet and hastily grabbed it in both of his

"Look, John, I'm sorry. I don't know why I did it, maybe it was just for fun, but that's no reason for you to go all…_Pyro_ on me." He tried to keep his voice calm, but there was a noticeable hint of something not unlike fear by the end.

Pyro glared at him, his mood clearly not improving. Finally, he asked in his angry Australian drawl, "Popsicle, was that s'posed to be a bloody joke?"

Bobby instinctively flinched back, but otherwise stood his ground. He knew what John was like when he got like this. He knew he should just back off, go for a walk or something and give him some space to calm down, same as he always did at the mansion. But there was nowhere to go here, and he had a stubborn streak of his own.

The two of them stood there eye to eye, Pyro glaring, Bobby with a hint of fear but also an icy determination familiar to most who had met him. Neither of them moved, the former because it was taking all he had not to burn his best friend, the latter because he refused to let go of the lighter.

Stalemate.

As usual.

"Popsicle… You're freezing my hand."

* * *

Instinctively, Wolverine ran over his knuckles, expecting as usual to still feel those hard metal claws. Even after so long, with so few memories of a time without them, he knew that he'd never be truly used to watching them slice in and out of his skin.

He stopped suddenly, tensing and jerking his head to the left as he smelt a new scent nearby, sniffing like the animal he was named for. Then he relaxed slightly, recognising the familiar scent of cotton gloves and endless inner fear.

Marie.

But there was something else in her smell. A strange resolve blurring with…anger? No, more deadly than that. Hatred, in a faint way that told him it wasn't of him. It was more like a constant hatred of something or someone that she couldn't see.

After absorbing him so many times, he knew she wouldn't be surprised if he reacted to his other senses, rather than just his eyes. "What's wrong, kiddo?" he asked casually, not looking at her.

An exhalation of breath. Happiness? Fear? Annoyance? There were too many conflicting scents for him to pick just one out.

"Logan." A different tone to her voice as well. For the first time in a while, she sounded far more like the scared stowaway in his truck than the confident student she had become. But there was also a tougher edge, as if she'd managed to tap into some other part of her or picked up a flash of his own personality.

"I wanted to ask you for a favour."

"Like what?" He finally turned to look at her. Just like her scent and her voice, her look contradicted itself. She seemed nervous, fiddling with her gloves and looking at the floor, but at the same time she was standing still with her legs slightly apart and kept raising her gaze to look straight at him. As with everything else, she seemed frightened and confused, but simultaneously confident and strong.

"I want…" She hesitated, although it wasn't clear if it was due to nerves or because she wanted to sure her purpose was clear. "I want you to teach me."

He raised an eyebrow. That was one of the last things he had expected her to say to him.

"Can't you ask Storm? If you're having trouble with school, you could even—"

"It's not school," she interrupted, sounding almost impatient.

There it was again. A flash of hatred, a strengthening of confidence.

"I want you to teach me how to fight."

He didn't know what to say. The conflicting scents and signs were confusing him too much to make an accurate guess at her intent, but he knew Marie well enough to know that this wasn't normal. Then again, he had only assumed that he had known her that well.

"They're teaching you that already. How to be an X-Men, remember?" He was trying to discourage her, and they both knew it. She could read him better than anybody else. Hopefully she could read the reason why without asking him.

"They're teaching me how to fight with my powers. I want to be able to fight without them. Like you do."

He frowned. "Why?"

"I want to be ready."

"For what?"

"For when we see them again. I don't want to have to rely on my powers when I see _him_ again."

At that one word, him, the hated flared up, warping and twisting her scent almost beyond all recognition. This wasn't the Marie he knew. Something had happened to her.

"See who?" he asked warily, choosing his words, not wanting to cause it to happen here. There was something else going on here, something he couldn't see yet.

"The Brotherhood. And _him_." She practically spat the word out.

"Bobby?" He was confused now. Who was she talking about? "You want to fight Bobby? I thought you liked the kid."

"Not Bobby." She sounded almost desperate for a moment there. "He shouldn't be with them." Sadness? Jealousy? "He should be with me."

All pretence gone now. He was scared, whether for her or of her, he couldn't say which.

"So who…?"

"John." Her eyes narrowed and her fists clenched, as if ready to fight his very name. "He took Bobby from me, away from where he belongs. It's his fault!"

So it was all about revenge. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and every other clichéd expression you could think of.

Logan was tempted to refuse. This new Marie was dangerous, any fool could see that. Above all else, she shouldn't be encouraged.

But it wasn't her fault. It was those two kids who had done this to her. Maybe John hadn't known that this would happen, but Bobby should have known better. In the end, they had brought this upon themselves.

"Well…" he drawled slowly, cracking his knuckles. He knew he was probably making the wrong choice, especially from the Professor's point of view. But damn it all, he wasn't some iconic hero and Charles knew that. He'd do what he wanted for his friend.

"We'd better get started then."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Oh my God! #collapses# I just typed almost five flippin' A4 pages! Arial size 12! About nine and a half A5 pages! Gah! I've never done that before!

I don't know how, but I've suddenly gone into typing overdrive with my stories. Hope it'll last, but knowing me, it probably won't. Dammit.

So, this is actually quite a large chapter for me, in terms of what I want to talk about. Three things in particular actually, so get ready for one of the longest author's notes ever. (If you can't be bothered, just skip to the bottom of the page and review if you're feeling nice, or just give up now.)

Number 1: Rating. As of this chapter there's going to be some stronger language than before (Nothing stronger than crap or bloody hopefully). If this offends you… I will wonder why you're in this section in the first place, but feel free to complain. I can always edit if you all hate it, but I thought this better suited a story where the two main characters are, after all, about 17/18 (in my opinion).

Number 2: Rogue. Before you all start yelling about what I did to her in this chapter, let me just say one thing: I LIKE ROGUE. Didn't at first (ie. First X-Men movie first time I saw it), but she is generally quite a cool character. I was annoyed about her not getting enough screen-time in X3 (Kitty got more bloody time than her! What is the world coming to?) and felt she deserved more. I don't hate her or want her hanged, despite being a Bobby/John supporter. We exist, trust me. Or at least I do.

As for the ficcy, she's the main reason why the main X-men have appeared in it at all. It's nice to have something other than Bobby and John to write about (no matter how unbelievably spiffy they are) and it kinda helps to create the (false) impression that there's a plot to this thing. As for her apparent evil-ness, I just think this'd be how she'd react. Maybe overemphasised, but she wouldn't exactly be happy. As for the possessiveness, it's more emotional than anything clingy. Bobby was the first person she really talked to at Xavier's, I think she'd miss him quite a lot if he left. Especially for another friend.

Speaking of which, it only makes sense to include her in some way. Bobby, John and Marie are pretty much the teenage trio in X2, which is what this leads on from. Ignoring her connection to the other two seems pretty pointless as far as stories go.

Finally, Number 3: Slash. As you may or may not have noticed, this chapter had the first largely slashy bit in it. Not only was this the first semi-major slash scene in this story, it's also the first I've ever written (previous attempts having all just been thought fics). In case you hadn't noticed, it also kinda sucked. The saddest part is that this is NOTHING compared to how bad it was when I first wrote it. You do not want to see the original. Trust me.

So that gives you an idea of where this is going. Feel free to give opinions on how that scene went, and any advice would be great on where it's wrong and/or right. After all, it only gets slashier after this…

Whoa. I digressed a lot… This thing's already over a page long! Gah! I talk too much! And I'm not finished! Sorry! Review replies still left!

rry: Woot! Go bananas! And yeah, I guess he would be pretty mad… But I guess at the moment he's more mad at himself for not seeing this coming. And yes, Evil Phoenix would be awesome. I've read some of the comics with her and she is so cool…

JobbyShipper: Yay! You liked it! God, I'm glad that somebody still likes this… Not that nobody else does, but it's nice to hear it, you know? And dammit, movies of fanfics would be so cool! Why has no one ever done that? Not even weird fan movies?

mari: Luckily my parents don't go hunting around my computer too often. Plus my mum's full knowledge of Livejournal is that once I was typing on it and she called it a historical document. Not hacking speech, ne? And don't worry, I'm determined not to drop this. I'm just incredibly slow at updating.

Colleterby: Go Yayness! May it forever rock on!

Serious Fan: Iceman does lose control pretty soon, so hope you enjoy it! (When I get there…)

Solo Maxwell-Yamato: For wibbles is the perfect word… Thankyou!

Firerose: …Dude, I hadn't thought of it. I will now have to write that scene just for you… And he should be freezing over in the chapter after next (all going well).

SupportSeverusSnape: Bad guys are good. This is a fact of life that nobody understands. Maybe because they tend to be so much cooler than the heroes…

…I realise this is huge, but can I just say one last thing? Thankyou.

…

I LOVE YOU PEOPLE. Why? Because quite simply this has been my most popular story ever. I've got 22 reviews for four chapters, for God's sake! The only story that has more is my crappy old fic Digimon 05, and that's 34 spread over 24 chapters! Why are you people so brilliant? (Over 2000 hits! I almost had a heart attack!)

…Must…stop…talking…

If you read all the way here, well done! #gives you chocolate and an inflatable banana, as well as a large medal of courage. And a proper one that plays music and everything, rather than the one in Wizard of Oz#

If not? I applaud your judgement.

…I'm shutting up now…


	6. Chapter Five: Intermission

**Warnings for Story:** Slash of the Bobby/John variety.

**Warnings for Chapter:** Not a whole lot really happening, pretty long chapter considering lack of content, Mystique being…Mystique. If that needs a warning. Possible OOC-ness for Mystique if it isn't really how she acts.

**Chapter Five: Intermission**

"And again, our top stories. Police are holding a mutant for questioning over seven robberies committed simultaneously in Los Angeles. Speculation is wild, but leaked information suggests that the mutant actually split into identical copies of himself to--"

The radio clicked off abruptly, despite standing alone in the middle of the room. It seemed to tremble for a moment, as if it was about to take flight, but then it stilled. Nevertheless, the metal table on which it stood grated slightly as it moved to the left, apparently restraining itself from being flung across the room.

Magneto stood up from his chair, disgust clear in his face. "Leaked information indeed. They want humans to know what we are capable of. They want them to be afraid."

Mystique smiled to herself, appearing calm in contrast to his growing revulsion. "It can work to our own advantage."

The older mutant didn't bother to suppress a chuckle at this. "All things do, in the end. Mutants will be targeted, isolated once more. Who do they have to turn to but us? Certainly not Charles' pathetic X-Men."

She rose to her feet. "Do you want me to fetch your new charges?" The slight sneer in the word, the small mocking tone, made her opinion of the new situation obvious.

"No." Magneto didn't bother to defend his decision. He knew that if she had any significant issues then she would bring them up herself. No need to provoke her when their plans were progressing so well. "You ready yourself, my dear. I'll fetch them myself."

Her smile became more suggestive. "You don't trust me with them?"

His eyebrow twitched upwards in amusement. "You can do what you like with them later. For now, they still need to be tested." He strode towards the door, triumph slowly seeping into his voice as the pieces of the puzzle began to rearrange in his mind to account for this latest development. "Those humans which Charles taught them to protect have now provided them with the perfect opportunity to properly serve mutantkind."

The response to his statement jarred with his sense of victory. Of course, in chess you should never believe that you would win until you had done so.

"You really believe that they'll do what you want?" Mystique didn't try to hide to scepticism in her voice.

He paused before he answered her, knowing that she wouldn't accept a response which had been given without consideration. Finally, he said slowly, "Pyro will. He has already proven that he has little loyalty to humans, especially when he is given the incentive." Magneto wished that he could have seen the look on Charles' face when he discovered Pyro's actions against the police such a short time ago. The satisfaction was almost like a living thing.

"And the other?"

Mystique's voice cut into his thoughts. A good question. Iceman was a mystery to all, that much was clear. He was willing to wager that there were parts of the other mutant that Charles had never sensed. Parts that not even Iceman was aware of.

"He follows Pyro. His actions depend on how strong their connection is." As Magneto had realised from the start, Iceman had joined the Brotherhood solely due to how he felt towards Pyro. Any calculation involving the two mutants needed to include that piece of information. If it could drive Iceman to go against everything that he had been taught already, perhaps it could convince him to go further still.

"It's a risk." In a way, it was good to hear her question him. In order for any plan to succeed, it needed to be defendable from any angle. Revisions and alterations were always necessary for anything. And Mystique had always been such a realist as well.

Fortunately, he knew how to fight these battles against her. For Mystique, everything focused around the central goal.

"But a worthwhile one. He is powerful, far more powerful than he realises, my little lesson had taught him that." As if it had only just happened (which, in a sense, was true), he could see Iceman's face when he had frozen all of his metal shards without apparently any concentration whatsoever. The desperation had been clear, but so had been the surprise. He seemed to have had no idea that he was capable of doing such a thing.

Magneto allowed himself a small smile. Few things were as satisfying a plan so vividly in his mind. "We will simply have to convince him how best to use that power." However powerful Iceman was, he was still young. Sheltered. Relatively easy to manipulate.

Mystique was clearly still unconvinced, but for the moment she didn't answer back. It was plain to see that the discussion was not yet over, yet Mystique understood timing almost better than anyone. She knew that now was not the time.

Iceman would simply have to prove himself to her.

* * *

Marie looked at the door in front of her, curious but also wary. After all, everybody knew that you could never know what was behind it. 

Logan was watching her just as intently. She could feel his eyes even though she had her back to him. She'd heard other people talk about that, but it seemed far more real for her. Possibly it was because Logan just had that certain way with people, or maybe it was more to do with what Rogue could do herself.

"Something wrong?" he drawled, never afraid to state the obvious. No matter how it might sound, that approach still seemed to always work for him. She didn't want to think about what would happen if someone else tried it. There was something about having six adamantium claws that allowed you to say pretty much whatever you liked.

She shook her head. "No. I'm just waiting for you to do something."

"And I'm waiting for you to look like you're ready." She turned to look at him as he pushed himself away from the wall he was leaning against, moving towards her. "Saying you want to learn to fight ain't enough. You've got to at least look like you can do it."

Her eyes narrowed at him. It didn't matter whether he was right or not, comments like that always seemed to set her off. Vaguely she knew that he was provoking her on purpose, but it felt good to be able to say what she was really feeling. After feeling almost dead for a day, she could barely handle her emotions now. Especially since he was certain that she'd never felt this angry before in her life.

"You don't think I can do it." She didn't bother to make it a question. She wanted to be accusing, to make her feelings clear.

He raised an eyebrow at her. "I never said that. Don't jump to conclusions."

Her fists clenched as her voice came out louder than she'd intended, "Don't tell me what to do!"

If she'd been looking closer, she might have noticed him flinch. If she'd been looking closer, she could have seen his nostrils flare and his eyes narrow as her scent twisted from her anger. Instead she only registered his voice, clearly too calm for the situation and forced that way to try and control it. "You asked me to teach you. Do you want me not to tell you how to do things?"

The glare was automatic, but there wasn't any real feeling behind it as there had been before. This time she had to accept that he was right. At least in that sense.

"Can we just get on with it?" She was trying to brush it all off, move on as quickly as possible. She wanted to learn how to use this build-up of anger against who she wanted to aim it at.

He shrugged, a slow smirk appearing on his face. "Just don't say that you didn't ask for it."

Walking towards the keypad next to her, his hands moved across it in a combination that was too complex for her to follow. There was a quiet click as the door unlocked.

"Let's get started then, kid."

* * *

"Iceman. Pyro." 

The two of them looked up at him, clearly startled, rather like a pair of small children caught doing something that they shouldn't be. Magneto opened his mouth to go further, then stopped as he registered their position. The two teenagers were sitting on the floor next to the only bed in the room, apparently positioned as far apart as possible yet somehow with their right hands clasped together. Their body language, with both facing away from each other, seemed to imply some sort of argument. However, the hands did not.

As Erik took a step inside the room, he noticed that the linked hands were coated in what seemed to be a thin cover of ice. That would explain why they were still touching, he guessed. More interestingly, the ice seemed to be forming and also melting at the same rate.

His only guess was some sort of power struggle, yet it didn't seem quite violent enough. Perhaps it was nothing but an accident that neither of them had fixed. Perhaps they were comfortable as they were. Judging by their expressions, both the ice and the heat were happening almost independently of their wielders. How interesting.

When he remained silent, Pyro apparently seemed uncomfortable enough to speak first. "You looking for us?" The phrase seemed slightly redundant, although it seemed enough for him.

"Yes." It was simpler for Magneto to answer than ignore. "I have a task for you." Keeping the small smile off his face was harder than he had expected.

Pyro looked interested by his words. "Tasks?" His smirk looked disbelieving, but Erik knew better. "You mean like one of the X-Men's missions?" His excitement at the implications was noticeable in his voice. Almost exactly as Magneto had predicted.

Apparently dismissing or simply accepting the reaction, he shifted his focus to Bobby as he elaborated. "Similar, yet far more important than anything Charles would ask of them." No reaction from the blonde, whose face was remaining carefully blank. Also as he had expected.

Iceman's precise reactions didn't matter at this stage. As he had told Mystique, in order to manipulate the ice mutant, he needed to use Pyro. By emphasising such small factors as importance and responsibility, he was playing to the teenager's wishes. If John agreed to something, Bobby would follow. Magneto only needed to avoid saying anything that might prevent the former from happening for all of his plans to work.

John's voice drew Erik's attention back to him. "Important for what? We going to kill somebody?"

A small smile. He didn't need to see Bobby to know that an expression was finally forming in response to that. The sudden drop in temperature was enough.

The first word's that the blonde had since Magneto had arrived only confirmed what he had assumed. "What are we actually doing?" His voice sounded neutral, but the emotions were there, lying beneath the surface. Some degree of warning aimed at John. And more than a hint of worry for where this would all end.

There had been no objection to the task itself, only a request for more detail before making a decision. Magneto almost felt like he was playing chess with Charles again. Only of course Iceman could only try to defend, rather than set up one of his old headmaster's counter-manoeuvres.

"A mutant has been arrested for several robberies." No need to go into more detail than what the humans were allowing to be reported. "He will clearly be used to set an example."

"How?" Bobby was obviously trying to sound sceptical, playing for time. Probably to try to discourage Pyro. "Is he in one of the capital punishment states or something?" There was a slight twist to the words, as if he was trying to laugh at them, but it wasn't working.

'_Simple death. Is that really all you can think of, I wonder? Do you think dying is the worst fate imaginable, Iceman? How much of that mind of yours are you holding back?'_

Magneto chuckled, drawing attention to how ridiculous he wanted Bobby's question to sound. "You don't seem to understand, Iceman. He will be used as proof of what humanity has always feared about us. We can't allow that to happen."

Before there was a response, he noticed that the blonde shot a worried glance over at John. It only proved his theory about Pyro's influence on his friend. Far more interesting was the lack of reaction on the fire mutant's part. Was he ignoring him or simply unaware of the look?

"So we're just going to interfere? Do what they expect us to do?" Bobby's eyes were still fixed on John, almost as if the words were directed at him. "We can't just decide the law for ourselves!"

The response to that was easy. He just simply had to appeal to John's more loyal nature. "I assume that you're referring to human laws?"

"They're the same for everyone!" The teenager sounded almost desperate now, whether he was talking to his friend or to the older mutant.

Magneto had to stifle a small chuckle as he watched him. _'So, he realises our little game. Pyro's Iceman is clearly no fool.' _He could feel a usually suppressed sense of pride in himself rising up. _'Charles… However did you let this one get away? Surely you must have realised what an asset he could be to our kind?'_

Even as he considered his next move, Magneto paused as realisation dawned. As he thought of his old friend, several factors which had seemed so separate and odd before suddenly seemed to merge together. Strange facts linked together to form a conclusion that seemed only too possible.

There was the way that Charles' pathetic ideas of ethics and equality seemed to have been bred far deeper into Bobby than any of the other students he had met. Not even some of the X-Men were as dedicated to those teachings.

At the same time, he had the information that when Pyro had set his powers free right on the doorstep of Bobby's old home, Iceman had done nothing but lie there and stare. In fact, during Magneto's own lesson it had been sheer desperation that had led to success, rather than any real thought or ability.

Yet despite these apparent issues, somewhere along the line Bobby's tactical mind had been encouraged. Possibly he'd had a natural talent for it, but the awareness of Erik's game had been far too quick to be luck. He had been taught how to understand an enemy's strategies, even try to work against them.

Bobby used his powers far less than almost any mutant connected to Charles, except for purely trivial reasons or when he needed them to save himself. But he still acted as if, in a fight, he could win. And all of a sudden, Magneto knew why.

_You knew how powerful he was, didn't you? Maybe not as powerful by himself as Pyro, but with a mind that means he can easily overtake him. You never told him. You wanted to guarantee that you could use it.'_ Erik had to work hard to hide a smile of wonder at hi sold friend.

'_You've been manipulating both of them, haven't you? Trying to control Pyro's power when he seems to stand against you, and increasing Iceman's to follow and fight for you.' _It all made sense, especially given what he knew Charles was capable of. No telepath was completely innocent. _'How caring and loving of you.'_

"The same for all humans. Not for all mutants." No time to linger over this revelation, not in the middle of something else. It had confirmed his belief that Iceman's powers needed to be drawn out, and added another factor that needed to be considered.

It was strange to hear Bobby's response as viewed through this new filter. "We're the same! There isn't supposed to be a difference!"

Not a bad statement on the whole, but with one flaw that made it vulnerable to the teenager who had grown strangely and uncharacteristically silent.

"Supposed to be. But there is," John said quietly. He spoke slowly, as if the words were coming out only as he thought of them.

There was a noticeable flicker of fear across Bobby's face, although fear might have been too strong a word. Foreboding could be closer. Perhaps at what he knew he would have to do in order to stay with his friend. "It won't get any better if we just start trying to take control."

John's eyes suddenly flicked up from the floor to lock with Bobby's, a flash of something not unlike anger in them. As he spoke, a slight Australian accent seemed to have seeped into his voice. "Popsicle, it's not like I can go back and be normal like you. The police'll be looking for me too. Those jets only attacked us because the X-Men came charging in and took me with them."

He leant forwards slightly, eyes narrowing, that faint hint of anger becoming stronger now. The next words were hissed, like flickering flames. "I'm probably wanted for attempted _murder_, or whatever they want to call it. And you want to play by their rules?" The next sentence was almost like a physical threat. "You'd hand me over to them because it's what humans do?"

Bobby was slowly leaning backwards away from his friend, until his head hit the bed. The fear was increasing, but there was sheer shock too. "John, that's not the same—"

He wasn't allowed to finish. Pyro was already there. "It might as well be!"

"You didn't actually kill—"

"They're your bloody family, Popsicle!" Maybe there was something else there in his voice. Something other than the growing anger. Magneto might have even called it despair. It was impossible to make an accurate guess, because even as he noticed, it was buried again under the rage. "You going to just pretend that you wouldn't choose them over me?" By the last words, he was almost shouting, visibly shaking from either emotion or the effort it was taking to control it.

In contrast, Bobby could only be described as looking terrified. He opened his mouth several times to reply, then every time he closed it again. It seemed that Pyro had hit a soft spot, either deliberately or by accident.

There was a quiet hissing sounds as the ice around their hands melted, then evaporated faster than Iceman could apparently make it. Slowly, Bobby drew away from his friend, as if from an approaching flame. He looked down, avoiding the gazes of both of the other mutants in the room. After a long silence, he started to speak, without looking up.

"You're wrong, you know. They used to be more important to me… But now they're not." Judging by how quiet his voice had become - barely more than a murmur - and the disjointed nature of his sentences, he was doing little more than thinking aloud. Sensing that some useful information could be revealed, Magneto took a step forwards, listening carefully whilst keeping his face free from emotion.

"They lied to me. My mum… She said that she'd stick by me, that they both would, but really they both just want me to be the same as everybody else. They don't want a son who's a danger to anyone who goes near him; they want a son who's normal."

Bobby breathed deeply, as if trying to control himself. "When I told them what I am… It was kind of obvious. I'm not normal, so they don't want me. It's that simple." He seemed to draw into himself slightly, as he said in a quiet voice, "They think I'm a freak, so they don't want me near them."

He suddenly looked up at John, and Erik saw the other mutant flinch. Due to the way that Bobby had turned his head, his expression wasn't visible, but from the look on John's face it was probably as dead as his voice had suddenly become.

"You asked me before if you were worth it. Worth giving up a family, a life…" He trailed off, and then sighed. "John, I'd already lost them back in that house, even before you did anything. Why would I choose to lose you as well?"

There was a long silence as the two of them looked at each other. Magneto slowly became aware of an almost psychic connection between the two of them, as if they were somehow talking without using words. Just for a second he almost wanted Charles there with him, or any telepath for that matter, to tell him what was passing between the two mutants.

Bobby suddenly spoke, sounding more as if he were continuing a conversation rather than apparently starting one. "It's not right."

John answered straight back, not appearing fazed by his friend's sudden words. Had they actually been talking in the way that Magneto had supposed? "We're not talking about doing what's right; we're talking about what we have to do."

"Just deciding the law for ourselves, is that what we have to do?" Was it just Erik or had there been a slight quiver in Bobby's voice there? Perhaps his beliefs were not as strong as they appeared to be.

"It's helping a mutant in trouble. Isn't that what you've always wanted to do? Isn't that why you came up with that stupid name, Iceman?" Pyro almost sneered, turning the code-name into an insult. "Isn't that what your precious X-Men always taught you to do?"

Now this was interesting. Pyro's words sounded planned, not like they had been thought up on the spot. How long had this apparent contempt for the X-Men and their ideas been growing? Had Charles truly never even sensed this rebel mind amongst the drones he was creating at that school of his?

Bobby was wavering, Magneto could see that. He was tempted to leave the two of them for a few minutes, to let Pyro's sudden changes in emotion and Iceman's shrinking confidence and beliefs decide the matter. Under any other circumstances, he would have done so, but this was all too unexpected. There were too many secrets and revelations all at once. He needed to add all of these factors together later, with no time limits. For the moment, he had to return to his original plan. Magneto couldn't allow himself to lose control of the situation, not even for an instant.

When Bobby hesitated, he cut in. "Enough. You two will have enough time to discuss ethics and responsibilities—" he raised an eyebrow as he looked at Bobby in a mildly accusing manner, "—later. We do not have the time for debates, only to take action. The decision of what to do is yours."

With that, Erik turned and left. He smiled to himself after a slight pause as he heard John rise and follow behind. Let Iceman make his choice, the way this strategy had called for. If anything, his reaction was only guaranteed further by these new twists. He would come around to the Brotherhood's way of thinking eventually. Magneto was sure of that.

* * *

Bobby sat where he'd been left, staring at the door which John had left through. 

'_It wasn't supposed to go like that.'_

In a way, he felt angry, both at John and at himself. It was partly directed at his friend for just being himself, and for letting himself be manipulated by Magneto like that. It had been obvious to Bobby what had been happening, but either John hadn't realised and was more stupid than the ice mutant had ever thought, or he had and had followed along with it anyway. After all, he was easily arrogant enough to do that.

But mainly the anger was turned on Bobby himself. He hadn't reacted fast enough, or managed to turn the situation around. Instead, his best friend had taken up Magneto's argument against him and all he'd done was just freeze over, like always.

It would be almost funny, if it wasn't so sickening.

He sighed, leaning his head back against the bed. _'Idiot.'_ As the word echoed around his head, his hand instinctively tried to form a fist. _'Idiot, idiot, idiot!'_

When his hand strangely refused to respond, he glanced down at it. It was covered in a coat of ice, thin at first but rapidly thickening even as he watched. Yet another loss of control on his part. What was _wrong_ with him these days? It was as if he was back to being fourteen years old, trying to stop the water freezing every time he had a shower. He'd thought he was past these sudden outbursts long ago.

Then again, he'd also thought that he and John would never end up separated, yet look at how that one had turned out: With John walking away to break the law, no matter what spin was put on it, and Bobby left behind as always, sitting on the floor like some pathetic, helpless child.

That image suddenly seemed to decide it for him. Since leaving the X-Jet yesterday to attempt to stop exactly this situation, he'd abandoned everything and everyone from before to aim to stay with his best friend. He refused to let all that be for nothing. He was already a technical (although not proven) member of a wanted anti-human dedicated to mutant supremacy, so he might as well act the part.

Then, as he pulled himself to his feet, trying to dispel the ice around his hand, he was suddenly hit by a strong sense of foreboding. Just for an instant, he had a sense that this was some sort of turning point. Maybe even one of those points of no return that the Professor had often talked about. True, he had joined the Brotherhood, but he hadn't done anything to show that yet. This was the real thing, where he showed whether he _could_ be a part of it.

And something else… As he stood up, staggering slightly, he could feel something hidden behind the more obvious worry. Almost as if there was some other force trying to warn him. Instead of the more obvious change, it felt like it was trying to warn him about something larger. Some larger effect on him, on his life, even on John's life.

Strange how it all came back to John in the end.

It was that thought that snapped him out of it. What was he thinking? Was it possible for him to be more melodramatic about this? It wasn't like he was sacrificing his soul to Satan or anything, so why was his mind acting like he was? People were busted out of jail every day; the only difference here was that this one was a mutant. In a way, it was a sign of what Magneto and the Professor had been saying all along.

He paused, still shaken by that strange sensation, then shook his head irritably. After he had finally managed to will the ice on his hand to completely disappear, he stood up straight and walked out of the room.

After all, what was the worst that could happen?

* * *

Mystique smiled to herself as she watched the boy walk out towards the helicopter. She'd known that he would eventually - Magneto was rarely wrong about these things - but it was always amusing to see others follow the plan without even realising it. They always believed that it was their own choice. 

Still, that didn't mean she couldn't have her own fun too.

Glancing behind her, she saw Pyro defiantly staring out of the window on the opposite side, ignoring his friend. Such an interesting relationship between the two of them. It was almost a delight to watch.

As Bobby caught sight of him, he hesitated. Slowly, she pushed herself away and walked up to him, gesturing behind her. "Nothing to be afraid of."

If he could, she felt that he would have blushed. Probably part of being an ice mutant was an inability to do so, or at least not easily. It was one of the many interesting observations she had made in such a little time. She wondered if Pyro blushed easier.

He shook his head, as if she'd asked something that needed a simple answer. "I'm not afraid."

"Do you think you should be?" She followed his gaze behind her, fixed on the other mutant despite talking to her. Maybe he was regretting his decision, or possibly he was reminding himself why he had done it.

Turning back, she leant close enough to him to whisper in his ear, "How far are you willing to go for him?"

Bobby's eyes finally flicked to her, a look of shock in them. He opened his mouth to respond, but no sound came out. He just stared at her, mouth slightly open. Finally he stammered out, "What do you mean?"

For a moment she didn't respond, circling around him to look back whilst keeping him in her sight. Then she spoke again, watching the back of his head to gauge his reaction. "You've come a long way already, but have you really thought about it? This could be dangerous."

As she walked past again, about to step on board, she moved her mouth close to his ear. "He might get hurt. He might die. What are you willing to do for him if that happens? What are you willing to become?"

She didn't need any special powers to feel him staring at her. It was the same way she didn't need powers to sense him walking after her after only the smallest of pauses.

Mystique could play games too. And these pieces just looked like too much fun to leave alone for long.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Oh…God… #collapses on keyboard# Tell me that's not the date. Tell me it's not almost July. Tell me I didn't wait almost _7 months_ to update this thing… 

There is something seriously wrong with me. Not exactly new information, but this is just bad. I am so sorry, people!

Let's see, shall I rummage in my bag of excuses now? What's in here this time… h yes! Exams! That's always a good one. Of course, it only accounts for just over a month. More specifically, from May to June. Damn.

There's also the fact that I am an amazing procrastinator, so it always takes ages for me to do anything anyways. Add to that the fact that for the last week I've been watching Bleach like it's a religion… Wait. This isn't helping me.

My particular favourite excuse is that I had a very specific ending for this chapter in mind, which took far longer to get to than I expected. When I finally got there, there was actually enough for two chapters. So the initial writing (since I handwrite these first, then type them up) took twice as long. Still, that should mean that the next one should be typed up much, _much_ faster than this one. Not too hard, really.

Of course, you guys are probably pretty annoyed that after all this time, you finally got what is essentially a filler episode. Hence the name, really. I've been nicknaming this chapter Intermission for ages, so I might as well keep it… I think the sheer long-ness of the bit with Magneto and the boys was mainly the reason for it all over-running into two chapters. Alas, when I get Writer's Block, I revert to symbolism and in-depth ficcies. Never good.

However, rest assured that I still love you guys. Reviews are incredible motivators, did you know that? Especially when you get two pretty close together pointing out your lack of updates… Sheesh, I'm so going to Hell for all this. I'm really sorry!

Hmm… You probably don't want to hear my rambles and excuses. One last sorry, then it's on to reviews and, after that, hiding from angry people…

Solo Maxwell-Yamato: Yay! I like doing John/Pyro-ness too. It's a fun switch, especially writing-wise. And there are Rogue fans who read this! Wahey!

mari: Ooo, someone else who follows my policy of fic-reading! Meh, I should really leave more reviews, considering how much everyone loves them… And thanks for your support! I hope this one didn't suck either… I blanked a lot of it out, so I'm not sure.

Firerose: Eep, if you thought the last chapter was long… I'm doomed. And I'm sorry for the lack of originality with John's back-story, it's just that it fits a little too well… Still, at least you seemed to like Bobby's. And someone else who thinks that his powers are kinda scary… And I like long reviews! They make me happy!

Coletterby: Well, hopefully your flatmates didn't steal the inflatable banana too. Then you can keep it! Although you may wish to beat me to death with it for taking so long to update…

rry: Yeah, well, betrayal's always a pretty fun thing to write. Not that I spend ages watching stuff yelling Just change sides, you fool!… #shifty eyes# I'm glad you liked the pre-slash! Of course, no slash in this one… But there was Mystique being as perverted as ever. Or at least, that's how she always ends up when I try to write her. Is that in character? And don't worry about the conversations, they're actually pretty fun to read.

zeo knight: Yes, there is more (eventually). And don't worry about the notes, I probably wouldn't have read them either. I tried to cut back a little here… Not that it worked.

TanyaPotter: Well, here's more, but you couldn't really call it soon…

bluerose24: Glad you liked the chapters! Hopefully this one will be okay too.

JustAnAmateur: Ack, thanks so much for your review. Gave me the necessary kick in the rear, which is all you need in the end, right? …And a massive guilt trip, but don't worry about that. Sorry that the chapter confused you, I think I got a bit carried away there, looking back at it. The basic idea was alternating John and Bobby flashbacks, with John's mainly based around his childhood and Bobby's around X2 and this ficcy. And trust me, I don't do the replies to make this thing longer (at least, not on purpose). After all, I always get panicked that people will think it's too long, not too short.

teh Michiru: Don't worry, I'm constantly complaining about people not updating, and see how long this took me? But I'm glad you like it though. Actually, you didn't have that long a wait in the end, so I guess you did sort of get an update soon-ish… And thank you for your helpfulness! That all makes sense, really… I think Rogue did kind of like John, since she seems willing enough to hang around with him in X2… Unless Bobby just dragged her along or something, which is quite a fun mental image. Anyways, thank you! Amazingness! Short sentences! Yay!

Hmm… My computer thinks that I no longer know how to spell. Why is it that whenever I do review replies, the page is filled with red lines? Ah well, that's what you get for trying to type the way you talk… Only there are less likes. And fewer actuallys. And no type things, which show up way too often when I'm talking normally…

Damn! More red lines! Just stop talking, me! Agh! Stop talking to yourself!

…Hmm. I may be going insane. How fun.

(Sorry it took so long!)


	7. Chapter Six: Walk Through the Fire

**Warnings for Story:** Slash of the Bobby/John variety.

**Warnings for Chapter:** A lot of people being killed, so I may need to up the rating, psychotic Pyro, bad treatment of patriotic Americans (AKA soldiers). (I love being British)

**Chapter Six: Walk Through the Fire**

Marie cried out as she hit the floor, skidding backwards slightly. The hard wood was cold underneath her hands as she pushed herself up, and she winced as her fingers brushed against a surface full of splinters. Of all the places to train her, why did he have to choose here? It was hardly what anybody would call comfortable.

Logan stood back from her, resisting the urge to help her. Let the kid get up on her own. Some old instinct at the back of his mind told him that if she couldn't even manage this, she'd never be able to handle the rest. He wanted to prove it wrong, and, more importantly, he wanted Marie to prove it wrong.

Involuntarily he flinched as she glared up at him from her position on the ground. "Couldn't you have started this somewhere a bit comfier?" Her hands drifted to her back in an attempt to rub it without disturbing any of her bruises, either the fresh ones or the older ones.

"You can make anywhere with this place, the Professor tells us that every time we go anywhere near here. So why couldn't you at least put the floor softer? Just a few cushions or something, that's all." She winced at a fresh burst of pain. "I'm going to be feeling these for weeks."

He raised an eyebrow, inwardly still trying to suppress that inner voice. "Pain helps you learn, kid. You remember what caused those bruises, so you can avoid it next time." He had only meant to make a brief point, but the words continued almost instinctively. "You learn what happens if you fail. It's an incentive to do better. If you're improving, you'll know when it starts to hurt less." A brief smirk, possibly his instincts' way of mocking her. "And you also get a taste of what'll happen in real life."

The brown eyes staring up at him didn't look very impressed. "Nice speech. Who wrote that?"

For a few seconds the words failed to come. His mind seemed to rebel against him, refusing to give up the memory. He'd heard exactly what he'd just said before, yelled at him as a hard hobnailed boot came crashing down…

His fist clenched, the fingers that had been running over the knuckles stilled. A sudden flash of his past, that was gone as soon as that remembered pain came. Or had that been what triggered it?

"Logan?"

She was sitting there, gaze still fixed on him. In so many ways, she was still the picture of innocence, tainted by her powers and scarred by a boyfriend who had abandoned her. Marie had never really had any say in her life before now. He didn't want her to end up the same way as him, from the same training.

"Kid, you don't have to do this." The realisation made him want to hear her opinion, just some sort of confirmation. "You could just give up, walk away. They teach you fighting in class, surrounded by those cushions you keep wanting. Why don't you leave and only learn what you have to?" This needed to be her choice, without any of the hatred that seemed to be influencing her mind.

There was silence as she sat there, apparently thinking hard if her expression was anything to go by. When he breathed in, Wolverine could smell the confusion in her scent. He wanted her to go, but at the same time he wanted her to make her own decision based on what she thought was right. If all of this was what she thought she had to do, then he wouldn't stop her.

Sooner than he had expected, she rose and looked him straight in the eye. "I chose to learn what you still remember." She smirked, echoing the same expression that he had used on her so often. "I want to be the best at what you do." Pausing for a breath, she added, with a slight trace of humour, "Better than you."

The voice in Logan's head finally faded, and he knew why. Revenge was a powerful force and Marie had somehow harnessed every bit of its power. Like it or not, this kid wasn't going to be stopped by merely his guilt.

Wolverine moved into his ready position, raising his hands as he had done at the start of this session. Rogue smiled, partly at him and partly to herself, and mirrored his stance.

"Let's try this again. Remember: More than anything, never let any pain stop you." His body tensed. "Only let it drive you further."

* * *

John had to smile as Magneto tore down the police station's metal doors. Attacking head-on, just the way he liked it. None of those phoney, skulking, X-Men tricks. This was the real thing; exactly how he'd always imagined it. 

The three of them moved in, Magneto in the centre and Mystique and John on either side. The brunette's hand found his lighter, but stopped at a warning look from their leader. As much as he wanted it otherwise, now was not the time. Not just yet, at least. He needed to wait for a bit longer.

As they entered the building, he was only vaguely aware of Bobby's frightened steps behind them. Suddenly his friend seemed more pathetic than ever, scared when they were the ones with the advantage. Although a part of him said that it was wrong, he couldn't help wishing slightly that the blonde had stayed with the X-Men that he apparently admired so much.

No time to focus on that though. It was far more interesting to watch Magneto pull a quivering cop towards them, presumably by his badge and belt. This was precisely the approach that he'd always wanted to see.

"Where is our brother?" Magneto gave a superior, mocking smile, directed both at the one he was addressing and to the rest of them. "We've come to take him back."

The cop talked, of course. Who wouldn't talk when faced by one of the bad guys? Simply thinking that made him realise how far he'd come in such a short time, from some teen rebel to a member of the Brotherhood. It almost made him smile, remembering how he'd been when he'd first met this new leader.

Bobby was merely forgotten as the three of them went to the mutant's cell. Pyro could finally understand what Magneto had been telling him, telling them all, right from the start: A mutant afraid to use his own powers was weak. The world of mutants had no time for them.

* * *

Magneto was far more aware of Bobby than Pyro was. _'Still afraid, Iceman. So afraid. But what of?'_ Whilst he walked on, idly deflecting the few inevitable bullets, he had to question the ice mutant's actions. _'You still need that simple motivation. What is it that you're waiting for?'_

The mutant in cell 11 glanced up with a bored air when they reached him, then visibly stiffened as he sat up warily. "What's this? Some maniac's idea of a movie?" Despite the cool words, any fool could have seen the look of relief on his face as the details of the situation dawned on him.

It was saddening, really. Yet another of his people scared of those that nature had decided that he should dominate. Luckily for Erik, he could now see the light.

He raised both hands with palms facing out, pulling the bars effortlessly free from the wall. Strangely low security for such a politically important prisoner. Perhaps Washington's troops were still on their way. They could have been engaged elsewhere. Maybe the President had some other plan, one that Magneto had not been able to predict, and one that would lead to the Brotherhood's thorough destruction at a later point.

Possible. But not likely.

He turned to look at Mystique. She looked back at him coolly, possibly having precisely the same thoughts. After all, even he couldn't completely tell what she was thinking after all this time.

When their eyes met, he knew what conclusion she had come to though. It was identical to what he had realised. "They're waiting for us upstairs," he said aloud.

"They want to guarantee that we don't have any tricks in reserve." Oh, she was clever; there was never any doubt about that. He may have been the strategist of the two, but she was capable of reading people to an extent that he could hardly imagine. He guessed that it came from being so many of them. That could leave a certain...knowledge.

"Well, we'll have to see what they want." A smile passed between them, not joyful but in anticipation of the battle. As if it would be even, not a massacre of pathetic humans with their guns.

He lifted an arm almost lazily to gesture at the new mutant, noticing for the first time the bruises which he had been trying to hide. Always good to see that the police still reacted in the same way to anything which they didn't understand. "Watch him, my dear. I think our two newest members need to see what they're facing."

There was a brief flash of annoyance across her face, but Erik could see that she understood the reason why. After all, Pyro and Iceman still had to be tested, or otherwise they could become a liability. Iceman in particular.

After a pause she nodded and turned away, whilst he moved to face the two teenagers. As he'd expected, Pyro looked excited at the idea of setting his powers free again. How long had Charles been suppressing him, he wondered, to make him this eager to express his true self? It was nearly frightening, although encouraging as well.

Iceman was clearly attempting to keep his face blank of any feelings, just as he had before, but once again he was failing in the same way. The fear was obvious in his eyes, though it was uncertain what of.

Magneto smiled at the two of them. "Time to prove yourselves."

* * *

The Professor gripped the arms of his wheelchair as he leant as far forwards as he dared. _'No, Erik! No!'_

Despite his silent protests, the television still showed the same terrible news. A terrorist attack on a police station. An intended rescue of a mutant criminal. Two innocent bystanders critically injured by redirected bullets, with still no sign of the leader emerging from the cells again.

And then, horrific in it inevitability, there was the news that Charles Xavier had known would come eventually. Nevertheless, he had sorely wished that it wouldn't.

Washington's finest were well on their way to the area even as the reporter spoke.

The best trained soldiers, probably some of the only ones capable and equipped to fight Magneto's powers. They'd provoke him, but they would also be prepared for whatever way he'd retaliate. That would force Erik to order his two latest recruits into action.

He knew what would happen then; he'd seen it in John's mind enough times. The boy would see the soldiers with their guns, and he would do the only thing that seemed right to him. Especially with Magneto urging him on, he would burn them all.

And what would that do to Bobby? The Professor had never been able to get an entirely clear reading on his former pupil's precise feelings towards his friend, despite searching more than his own ethics would normally allow. He knew that John's outbursts frightened him, especially with their increasing frequency recently, but what else was there?

Without even watching it unfold, he knew what would come next. Bobby would try to hold back, and with any luck he wouldn't fight at all. Hopefully all of the school's teachings would be able to stop that happening. But then again, if John was hurt…

He knew it, from what little he'd managed to glean from the boy's emotions. He was only just realising that Erik knew it too. If John was attacked, injured in any way…

Iceman would make the ones who did it pay for it. It was what the Professor had been dreading all along.

* * *

Magneto merely raised an eyebrow as they stepped out into an open hall what was rapidly filling with soldiers. His practised eyes picked out the uniforms: Finally, the elite Special Forces which he had been expected all along. 

"Now, this is just typical," he commented, as if he was having trouble buying groceries rather than facing a room of armed professionals. The President had certainly taken his time. What was this country coming to, where it took this long for a politician to react to an obvious retaliation against him?

A movement to his right caught his eye. One of them was raising his gun. Idly, he felt for it, intending to simply yank it out of his hands…and felt nothing. It was only after several attempts that the reason why occurred to him.

"Plastic weapons. That does make it more interesting."

Apparently that made the humans assume that they were in the position of power. As if on cue, a wave of bullets cut towards them, only to waver and fall as they hit the magnetic field that Magneto surrounded himself with instinctively. What was the point of making these special guns if they insisted on continuing to use ammunition that could still be manipulated?

He turned his head away, focusing on the teenager to his right. "Pyro. Burn them."

The mutant smirked, drawing an ordinary lighter out of his pocket. "Like you had to ask."

As the first wave of heat washed back over them, Magneto felt Bobby flinch. A reaction to the temperature or to the action? It was unclear simply from his expression. After all, it was only reasonable to expect an ice mutant to react negatively to fire's effects.

Not, of course, that this prevented him from having any contact with its controller.

The small flame from the lighter sparked up, swiftly growing and then leaping across into Pyro's other hand, before being almost instantly thrown forwards. It collided with a group of roughly four or five soldiers, incinerating them in a second.

Instant death. From what Magneto had gathered, the last time Pyro had been loose, he had only begun to even consider killing towards the end. This time, he did it at once and with no hesitation. It was almost as if he was changing each time, evolving at every opportunity.

Several more bursts followed, leaving more groups of charred husks. Each time the radius increased, creating a greater amount of death. Then Pyro suddenly thrust his arm across in front of him, sending an arc of flames fanning out until they crashed down in front of the three mutants. They formed a barrier which was practically alive between the two groups. It instantly began to eat its way through the floor, quickly reaching a base of vegetation to anchor itself in naturally.

A clever move, Magneto noted. A self-sufficient guard which would still remain if anything happened to its creator.

Its use became yet more obvious as certain parts began to shoot out their own separate branches of fire, reducing still greater sections of the soldiers to ashes. What had been a formidable force was rapidly being reduced to remnants and the survivors.

Magneto watched with interest as the streaks of flame started to shape and twist, sometimes splitting and sometimes joining back together again, looping around each other before rushing away once more as abruptly as if they had been magnetically repelled. With every passing second Pyro seemed to be playing more and more with the fire. He appeared to be only just realising what he could do with it.

"John! John, stop it!"

Bobby's yells finally drew Magneto away from his fascination with the movements. The blonde looked distraught, almost screaming his friend's name. No, that word wasn't nearly enough. He looked terrified.

It was the most emotion that Erik had truly seen plainly on his face since first meeting him. And every bit of it was all directed at John. All caused by John.

The rain of bullets had continued after that first volley, becoming increasingly erratic. These soldiers weren't fighting in a drill, they were in danger. There was nobody telling them what to do to fight fire itself. Roughly half of them now lay as slowly smouldering ashes. Those left were firing whenever they could, with no clear pattern to it. Not that it mattered. Magneto had simply created a constant magnetic field around them, a protection just as good as Pyro's blazing wall.

"John! They're going to kill you!"

So that was it. Bobby wasn't scared of his friend, or at least not primarily. He was scared _for_ him. All that emotional control had been shattered simply by putting John in danger.

While Magneto was considering this, still plotting and calculating, he became abruptly aware of his magnetic field wavering. Without much difficulty, his mind grabbed onto it and wrestled it back into place. No real damage done, but he was shaken now. How had he lost control of it like that? Except he hadn't, he had just need to consciously focus on it.

The growing inferno continued to swirl around the room, now herding several separate survivors and circling them. It was uncannily similar to watching some large cat playing with its food. A sudden surge of fresh heat washed over Magneto's face as the field wavered once more. As he felt the sensation, it finally hit him.

It didn't matter specifically how he was doing it, but Pyro's powers were somehow warping Magneto's magnetism. That was yet another factor to consider. The shield remained intact, yet it required a direct application of the mind. This could become more difficult, given the progressively more unpredictable bursts of gunfire.

"You've killed enough of them, just leave the rest alone!"

Erik glanced over at the screaming mutant and momentarily paused in surprise. A few tears were streaking down his face, but despite the almost overwhelming heat from the flames, they were freezing even as they fell. Once again, Bobby's emotions were drawing out his powers.

It was the fear for John. Of what Pyro was doing. John, Pyro… He was Bobby's weakness, no matter what name or reason was given.

Strangely, as Magneto saw those frozen tears, he could hear Mystique's voice from mere minutes ago in his head. _**"They want to guarantee that we don't have any tricks in reserve."** _

Without looking, he knew that all of the bullets were now targeted at Pyro. Simply by considering all of the times that might be available; surely this was the time for the one trick that he himself hadn't been able to guarantee.

His control suddenly slipped again, in time with Pyro letting off another blazing burst, and a bullet shot over their heads, thankfully far above. At this rate, any one of these could get through. Any one of them could hit…

Iceman was the new trick. The one that they didn't seem to be able to predict. The one nobody could control, or know his limits.

But he was stubborn. He only responded to John.

* * *

Bobby wasn't aware of the tears or the ice. He could only see Pyro grinning, laughing as he burnt them all. This wasn't the boy he had grown up with, this was somebody else. This was who the fire had always tried to free. 

The sound of the flames was in his ears. He couldn't hear his yells, although he could feel them as they ripped through his throat. The ring of fire around them kept trying to creep in closer, heat scalding his skin as it tried to freeze to save him.

His best friend was a complete stranger. Pure emotion, pure fire, pure power. Not John. The idea of a John destroyed and controlled by his own powers cut through him more than anything else. The mere thought…burnt. How ironic.

It hurt. It all hurt.

He felt as if all he could do was watch Pyro. He took in the wild, manic grin. He made out the lighter, almost consumed in the blaze that it created for its owner. He noticed still more flames leap out, joining the rest.

Abruptly, he saw the exact moment that it all changed. It was like watching a film, as if watching the whole unreal scene unfold in slow motion.

He saw John's body flinch. He saw his eyes suddenly go wide. He saw the expression change so quickly from joy to shock. He saw the raging inferno flare up, as if in distress. He saw a single trickle of blood begin to escape out of the corner of his mouth, matching the trail from a swiftly visible bullet hole…

And then, horribly, nightmarishly, he watched St. John Allerdyce crumple to the ground and lie there. As still as the dead.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Okay, before I say anything… Let's see, I have a hard hat, armour and I'm hiding under that greatest protection of all (albeit from communists with nuclear weapons), a school desk. I should survive for a bit longer… 

Okay, let me make this perfectly straight: I DO NOT HATE JOHN. Not like that'll make a difference though. Sheesh, I'm going to have to hand in my I Love John fan club badge at this rate. Not that I have one, but virtually. Spiritually. Metaphorically. Grammatically.

Okay, this chapter actually gets to me quite a lot. Mainly because I wrote most of it in the first place when I either should have been doing English essays/stories or after doing English essays/stories. That means that I was pretty conscious of weird stuff like sentence structures and narrative effect, so I kept trying to do unnecessary stuff. Hence the weird repetition of he saw and stuff like that.

I also discovered that I use certain words way too much. The problem is that I usually can't think of another way of putting it, and none of the thesaurus words fit. So if you think you only just read a word or phrase… You probably just did. Sorry! I dunno, maybe it's the same way I keep having Words for the Day. Just as one example, I said the word trippy at least three times today, when I barely ever use it anyway. Who know?

Nevertheless, this chapter is still a bit of a wonder for me in so many ways. For starters, this is the fastest update I've done since pretty much I started this story. Speaking of which, ADD is now officially over a year old, and it's still going! Just think., one year and I still giggle at its acronym… Maybe because it's still way too appropriate.

Also, this chapter was supposed to be in the same part as the last one… I think I can safely say that it would've been too long though. Still, hold on, because the next chapter's the same length and can't be split into two. Well, it can, but it would be very pointless. And the two parts don't last that well separate.

Finally, this chapter is a pretty significant turning point in the story. The next one too, but it's still based around this one event. Basically, from here on it's getting more slashy and much more angsty. (But it was already sort of angsty! I hear you cry with my supersonic hearing. Anybody who's ever read at least Frozen Over will know that I can go MUCH more angsty than this. Which I will). So, that's something to look forward to, ne?

I also noticed that I've never done a proper disclaimer for this thing. So, one year on, I have no claim on any of the characters in this story, as they belong to whoever gets them in the complex law case. Probably Marvel. …Hopefully Marvel. However, every now and again I will admit to stealing Bobby and John to hide in my house. I mean… I borrow them! They come of their own free will! …This isn't helping me…

Ack, why are my notes always so long? It's thanking time!

tanya: Yeah, poor Bobby. One of these days I'll figure out why I seem to love being mean to him so much.

mari: #collapses# Yay! My first innuendo! Wait, is that good? I'm going to say it's good. And I'm glad to hear you enjoy Charles' playing around with minds, since I enjoy writing it. Although it's starting to move onto Magneto too. And I love your point about John and Rogue! It makes sense! And we're about to find out just how dangerous Bobby can be, actually.

Anei Aikouka: Thankyou! I'm trying really hard not to have a delay like that again, but it's nice to hear that you still like it!

rry: #sheepish expression# Um…Yeah. I feel really bad about the slow update, if that helps? Wait, slow is too nice a word… Practically non-existent? Yeah, that works. Anyways, don't worry, the one thing I can guarantee is that Bobby is not going to re-join the X-Men. Besides, after the next chapter, I doubt they'd really want him… I dunno if you'd call either of them crazy in the end, but it should still be fun to write. And sleepovers are always good. Especially when I can't be bothered to get out of my sleeping bag and everyone says I look silly bouncing around in it… It's fun, dammit!

Serious Fan: Glad you liked Mystique's line. That scene wasn't originally in there, but I thought it needed an extra bit, and it was very fun to write. She just keeps sneaking her way in, like with weird relatives and photos…

JustAnAmateur: Okay, can I just say that I love the idea of anybody describing any type of sarcasm as bubbly? Although it is true, I've noticed that… I really appreciated the push, I think most of my stories tend to die because I lose interest or it feels like nobody particularly cares about them. Usually the first, since I'm an accomplished procrastinator and all. Don't worry about trying to write in a particular way, and your reviews are kinda long anyways, so don't feel like you have to change them! I promise I wouldn't gloat if I get full marks, but that gives me something to aim for, right? And a time limit I kept to! Amazing!

Firerose: Yup, you spelt it right, congratulations. I do have fun trying to imagine how Bobby and John would look like to the older people, since in the end they're pretty focused on picking sides, no matter what they say. And with the pervy Mystique, that's how she always seemed in the movies to me, so it felt okay. After all, anybody who wanders around naked clearly doesn't seem to care about certain things… Like pneumonia.

Solo Maxwell-Yamato: I love Rogue, I really do, and I love letting her do the things that they should have let her do in the movies. Wow, I hope you found Europe fun. Did you go to England, or does that not count? Sorry for keeping you up though. I'm always worried I get carried away with the chess stuff, but it seems so important for Magneto and Xavier, at least in the first two movies.

Silent Angel 1291: Yes, technically you didn't review the last chapter, but where else am I supposed to put this? And slow updates are no stranger to me. In fact, neither are Never-Happening updates. It's really not a good habit for me… but not lazy! Definitely not lazy! I don't tend to bother with watching fics, I just go and do a hunt every now again… Only then I forget what I'm looking for and where I was, so it's probably not such a good system. Ha, the ADD acronym strikes back! I hadn't really thought about doing Rogue/Logan, though they are cute. Unfortunately, she's pretty focused on Bobby, so it's going to stay at the father/daughter stage. Ah, 2am alternate voices… So good to hear that it's not just me. And if I just discouraged you from writing about Bobby in a dress, then please ignore this update. And I love long reviews. And see? You get a long reply right back!

Hmm, a growing amount of this story is the thankyous… Maybe I should just give up and make the whole thing much shorter… But I'd feel so mean!

So, don't expect every chapter to be uploaded this quickly. I'm not at school and I have a deadline, since I wanted to get this up before going on holiday, or else it's be an extra two weeks…

Still, see you next chapter, guys! It's the one I've been wanting to write since the start. In fact, it's over half of the original idea. The3 plot's got bigger since then though, so don't get your hopes up. See you then!

(Note: The weird title was my friend's idea, after I told her that I wrote most of John's bit to Walk Through the Fire, a song from Buffy's Once More With Feeling episode.)


	8. Chapter Seven: Fracture

**Warnings for Story:** Slash of the Bobby/John variety.

**Warnings for Chapter:** Yet more people being killed, this time in a distinctly more graphic way, very long introspective section, extreme longness of chapter. And not much happening when you really sit down and analyse it.

**Chapter Seven: Fracture**

People envy psychics. They believe that being able to hear thoughts is a gift; several groups would even call it a gift. For some reason, they also believe that telepathy can be controlled whenever the psychic wishes. If a thought becomes too loud or close to home, it can simply be ignored.

These believers are wrong on every account.

Hearing what people are really thinking is more often than not a curse. Usually those who lie have a reason for doing it. A telepath knows the reasons, and so has to suffer the truth.

And what you hear in your mind is rarely controlled at first. It can take years before a psychic has sufficient shields to block out everyday thoughts or enough control to go looking for specific ones. If you try to find thoughts with too much power, they'll overwhelm you. However, too little energy and it doesn't work. There's a fine, fine line there.

Even when you've developed that exact control over your own mind, there will still be exceptions. Emotions, generally. A heady burst of happiness or a flare of hatred can rip down your mental barriers in seconds, given the chance. The only good thing is that typically this only happens if you're close to the person, physically or emotionally.

Usually.

Not always.

All across America, barely two days after they had faced a psychic onslaught that had almost killed every one of them, telepaths were struck down yet again. Not by a controlled mind focused on their destruction this time though, but instead by an earth-shattering, crippling mental cry of despair.

Charles Xavier was almost knocked completely from his wheelchair by the force of it. He had been probing towards its source beforehand, which doubled and perhaps even tripled its impact on him. His shields had been lowered to increase his scanning power, and now it was all he could do not to lose himself in the mental cries of pain.

At Alkali Lake, the still mirror of the water was suddenly shattered as a few bubbles broke the surface, then burst, sending out ripples. Not much, but a definite sign of life. This cry of extreme emotion could wake the dead. In a sense, it already had.

The origin of the despair was hard to trace for most mutants. It had spread out so rapidly that its signals quickly faded to become entangled with others, hard to separate out entirely. However, some were able to follow its path back to Los Angeles. A handful managed to reach a police station which was almost masked already by the drifting minds of the dying.

The Professor could trace it all the way back to its source, simply because he knew what he was looking for. Or, more to the point,who. The one mind amongst the rest which was feeling this pain.

A blonde teenager, in so many ways still too young for anything like this, standing in the burning surroundings of a once-large police station. Watching his best friend lying there on the floor.

* * *

Bobby Drake wasn't thinking about the sheer number of psychics that his thoughts had ripped through. He wasn't even aware that they were there or of the way he'd affected them. Then again, he wasn't really aware of anything else either. The world had seemed to constrict around him, pulling in, folding down and focusing purely on a few specific things. 

The heat, for one. There were flames all around him, smaller than they had been but spreading even now as they found more and more to burn. Their crackling was one of the only things his mind could let himself hear. It was more like background noise overall, yet still louder than anything else behind it.

Running over the top was his breathing. The one thing louder to him than the fire. The rhythm sounded steady, except the breaths were too shallow, causing it to be faster than it should be. In any other situation, he'd think that it was somebody crying. Here though... He didn't know.

Sweat was forming on his forehead, the feeling of the liquid bizarre under the circumstances. The only thing stranger was the sudden chill as the droplets froze to his skin. It was happening all over his body, creating peculiar frozen patterns across his arms and back. Someone watching might have described them as veins or vines of ice from the way that they linked together and spread across his skin.

Impossibly, his breath was starting to mist in front of him. It was surreal, surrounded by the incredible heat and strengthening flames, to see white gusts slowly drifting past his eyes. They vanished almost as soon as they moved away from him though, not exactly unexpectedly.

The world seemed to twist around him as he stepped forwards. It felt as if the ground was moving underneath him, turning everything on some weird angle. He made it as far as three steps, then stumbled and fell to his knees. He gasped as a sharp pain shot up his left leg, and the resulting cloud from it lasted longer than any of its predecessors.

Looking down, his eyes focused again on the body before him. No, not the body, the _person_. Body implied something which he didn't even want to think about, no matter how the situation might look to anyone else.

John was not dead. He couldn't be dead. Bobby wasn't going to let him _be_ dead.

His eyes stung suddenly. His first thought was that it was from the smoke of the flames, except there was surprisingly little. John's fire always burnt using everything, meaning that there wasn't a whole lot left to produce smoke. Even surrounded by this much of it, there was barely enough to make him cough.

As he leant forwards, a drop of water fell away from him, crystallising and then melting once more. Was he crying? Couldn't be, he couldn't feel it. All the same, more tears followed, falling as ice for longer each time.

One came close to John's hand, only to melt and almost immediately evaporate within seconds before it could touch his skin. Cautiously, Bobby reached out to touch his friend. John was sleeping really, that was all. He only had to be woken up; it was just him being as stubborn as ever…

The heat skyrocketed as he got nearer. Bobby could feel his own skin blistering, yet he simply tried to block out the pain. It was almost like a barrier between them, a barrier that became stronger the harder he tried to push through. Automatically he tried to lower the temperature, to cover his hand in ice, but there was nothing except a hissing sound and a cloud of steam as it dispersed.

For a moment he felt material under his fingers, before they slid across a sickening streak of blood, and then it was like he had touched the surface of the sun. The heat seared through his fingertips, trying to burn him as if he was made of wood.

Unnatural. John was never this hot, period. His differences in temperatures were limited to being as extreme as Bobby's, and this went way beyond that. Bobby had never felt the heat in this way, because usually it just cancelled out when he prepared himself for it.

There was more mist now over the body—

'_John, over John.'_

—coming from somewhere close by. Glancing at his hand, Bobby saw that the layer of ice which he'd wanted already covering it, thickening faster than he'd ever seen before. Without any kind of mental command, it started to spread down his arm, moving quicker than ever before.

It was as if his powers were reacting to John's…What would you call it? Overload? There was no obvious indication of exactly what it was. He'd known the other mutant for their whole time at the school, and he'd only felt him get this hot twice before.

Once at his house, or rather his parents' house. He'd been able to feel the heat rising from the beginning, even if nobody else could. When Rogue had touched him, he'd expected her hand to burst into flames. When she didn't, he thought he'd imagined it.

The other time was in the helicopter when this whole mess had begun. As they had started to fly away, John had had some sort of fit. He'd been screaming, clutching at his head like it would explode, and then it had finished just as suddenly as it had started, with him fainting away. The one sign left was the sheer heat radiating off his body. The others had felt it too that time, had tried to ask him about it during the flight, although he hadn't been able to answer.

John was a fire mutant, sure, but before that had simply meant a little pyromania. It had never changed him. Not like this.

The crackling of the flames rose to a dull roar inside Bobby's head. His friend wouldn't be giving off this level of heat if he was…what he looked like. That meant that he had to be alive.

Except nobody really knew how John's powers worked. The Professor has never said much about them, and Bobby had already known the few details which the headmaster had shared with him. He also knew that, so far, John was the only mutant of his kind that the X-Men knew about. Same as Bobby, when it came to that.

It was possible that this was exactly what would happen when John… No. he couldn't even think it. But maybe this wasn't as strange as it appeared. Maybe all that energy had to go somewhere after it had stopped being controlled.

And if so, it wasn't being controlled because John was…

…

…_Dead._

Bizarrely, as that one word echoed around his head, the room seemed to freeze around him. Not in the literal sense, not in the way that things connected to him usually did, yet even the fire stopped moving for a second from his point of view.

_Dead._

It was like he had been separated from the rest of the world. It all felt too strange, too unreal. His eyes focused on the body (was that really all it was?) and refused to look away, the image of his friend lying there burning itself into his mind.

Burning. How ironic. John would appreciate that. Except he never would.

His body was almost impossibly still. He could still be alive, but he wasn't showing it.

_Dead._

Reality felt as if it had slipped away, leaving him with nothing except for the chill across his skin. The veins of ice were spreading further, winding their way across his body. Streak of cold followed the tear tracks left by something Bobby had barely been aware of. The air itself seemed cooler, although he could be imagining that. His perceptions tended to change when his powers started to come out like this.

Yet this felt different somehow. This felt like something was building up beneath it all. A sense of danger, and something hidden. A vague feeling of power brushed against his mind, but all it left behind was a trace of ice that felt strangely alien.

An unfamiliar voice cut through his thoughts. "Sir? Sir, what do we do?"

It was a standard male voice. Nothing special about it, nothing to make it stand out. If he was asked later, he wouldn't be able to remember much about it. The only thing that particularly made it stand out was the note of panic which seeped into the words.

Nevertheless, at the sound of that voice, his body tensed. He knew it belonged to one of the cops. Most of the soldiers were gone, but there were still normal officers standing at the edges, slowly and cautiously fanning out to cover the space. John hadn't killed everybody after all.

Normally that thought would have scared him as much as the act had terrified him earlier, while he had watched his best friend become a killer. But now all he could think was that it was too bad that those cops were still alive.

No, more than that. They _shouldn't_ be alive. One of the men still standing there had shot John. They might have killed him. And if one had done it, they should all suffer for it. They were all as bad as each other, because not one of them hadn't been trying to shoot him. None of them deserved to be living, not when their target could be lying dead at Bobby's feet.

"Sir?" A different voice, stronger, less scared. "Do we take the rest down?"

Did they think he couldn't hear them? Standing there in the open, yelling out their questions. Did they believe that mutants didn't have ears, or were they simply complete idiots? If this was the best that the United States had to offer, then the country was in a bigger mess than he had ever conceived. Even if they weren't, it didn't bode well at all. How had he never realised how incompetent they were?

"Shoot to wound, not kill."

He didn't look up at the sound of about thirty guns losing their safety catches. His eyes were still fixed on John. A strange sense of calmness had started to settle over his mind, so that nothing seemed important or deadly. It was like a faint chill was spreading through his mind, stopping anything from scaring him.

It felt…good.

"Fire!"

No flinch and no reaction as the guns went off. Not that he needed to. With barely a thought, the growing cold air around him was pushed out, becoming stronger as it moved. As soon as the bullets hit it, they began to frost over and fell to the ground within seconds.

When he had used this trick with Magneto, it had been an act of desperation. A last attempt to save his life ahead of being impaled. This time, though, it was so easy. It wasn't any less powerful, far from it; it just felt easier to do. Suddenly everything that he had ever struggled with before now was assembling itself in his head, as clear as…well, ice.

"You shot him."

It didn't actually sound like his voice. It sounder colder, more dangerous. In contrast with his own feelings, the words were stated calmly. There was no real inflection, no real emotion.

Magneto, still standing behind the two teenage mutants, slowly drew back. Partly to give Bobby space, as any fool could see that something was about to happen, but also partly to get away from the rapidly spreading and plummeting temperature.

He turned to see Mystique and the liberated mutant emerging from the cells, and motioned for them to remain where they were. Events were now in motion, gaining momentum that prevented any further proper manipulation. Rather strangely for him, he could now no longer influence what would happen. He would have to sit back and watch the outcome like the rest of them.

Bobby watched John for a minute or so longer, his body lying there so unnaturally motionless. If he was dead, then everything had just changed. Again. Everything about Bobby's life was different, altered. If it wasn't for John, he wouldn't be here at all. He could have been back at Xavier's, but he didn't care anymore.

"You shot him," he repeated, and now the faintest traces of emotion were seeping into his voice. Beneath the calm words was a hint of anger, possibly even hatred. Not enough to twist the words as they were spoken, but enough to indicate what was about to happen.

A circle of ice started to form around him, slowly spreading outwards from his feet. He could have dispelled it with a thought, yet instead he let it move further and further, picking up speed as it went. As the edge of it touched John's body, that section began to hiss and melt, before evaporating in the heat. That didn't make any difference though. The ice simply spread around him, leaving the mutant in a circle of warmth in the cold.

Watching this, Bobby let a faint smile find its way onto his face.

Then it disappeared as Iceman looked up at the cops.

"You _shot_ him," he whispered, the words carrying out across the room.

With giving any real thought to it, a faint wind began to form around him, glistening as the light reflected off the small crystals of ice forming inside. It circled for a moment, gathering strength, then suddenly unravelled and shot outwards, the temperature plunging at its touch.

Frost grew across the windows, the furniture, the walls. The cops' breath misted out in front of their faces, each man and woman identified by their own cloud.

Iceman's breath couldn't be seen. It was too cold to do that.

As the air grew colder, the ring of ice around him started to build up faster and faster, rising level with his feet, his ankles… And then it almost exploded outwards, covering the station's floor before many of the cops even realised that it was spreading.

Some of them managed to avoid it, jumping up as it reached them to land on top. The majority were trapped, held in place as it reached up their legs to prevent any attempts at escape. A few tried to shoot it off, but the bullets simply ricocheted off as the layer thickened.

As anybody might expect from a properly trained police force, their reaction was to open fire at the source. However, the bullets simply froze over and fell to the ground once more, even quicker than they had before. The room was growing colder by the second, allowing fresh ice to form faster. And Iceman was only getting better.

Watching them, watching their reactions, their emotions… It all began to fall together in his head. Just by looking at everything they did, it was as if he could predict what would happen next. _Now_ that cop by the stairs would shoot again, and _now_ that one to the left would hopelessly struggle to pull his friend's legs free, and _now_ that one near the back would try not to let the tears show.

He saw it all happen, every emotion as inevitable as death. Some part of his mind told him that he should care about anybody who looked like this. Another, far more childish, part of him whimpered that cops only looked like that when they were facing a bad mind. Towards the back of his head, a part with Charles Xavier's voice lectured that by causing such fear, he was the worst kind of being imaginable.

Above it all, one voice steadily strengthened and increased in volume as it whispered that he could do so much more. That it would be so easy to realise their fears, the fears that were so clear even though their faces showed nothing. That if he chose to do something, they couldn't stop him.

Strangely enough, the cold in reality felt as if it had reached his mind too, since each voice seemed to freeze and grow silent. All but one. In the new vacuum of thoughts, only two remained. One old, one new.

The sensation of power. That remained, although it appeared more distant now. It wasn't power over others anymore; it was power of a more basic type. The power inherent in elements of nature. Dreamily he wondered if John had ever felt this way, or if his fire had a different way of talking to him.

The second was straightforward detached observation. He saw the anger, the fear, the tears, and they were…interesting. He felt nothing in response, not even the smallest twinge of guilt, just hazy interest. When he looked at it all, it was as if the emotions attached to every little thing had been severed. The men and women were standing in front of him with guns, yet he didn't feel the slightest bit of fear that he might die. The fire that had so rapidly frozen around him still reminded him of John, but that thought didn't bring the same bizarre mix of feelings that it usually did.

Inevitably, his eyes rifted down to the body at his feet. That did trigger something, except it wasn't the same as before. There was no despair; his mind was perfectly willing to label it as a body. Instead, he felt anger. Not burning hot as it should be, but ice-cold.

Somehow he knew that he should be frightened of what he was feeling, or rather what he wasn't feeling, only he didn't care now. The details of anything other than calm anger had simply passed out of his head. If he strained, he could only barely remember what they had felt like in first place. They all seemed so distant now, so unreal.

Where he had used to feel so much before, it had all refined into a simple thought: These people had shot John. They deserved whatever punishment Iceman could come up with, whatever he decided to throw at them. By all rights, their fates were in his hands.

As far as this new detached thought was concerned, there was one thing to be done. These people deserved to die.

He didn't say a word or make some large, dramatic gesture. At most, he raised an eyebrow… And one of the cops trapped in the ice screamed as it grew over his legs, up and over him, joining together across his body and leaving him encased in a sold block.

Watching it happen, instead of feeling dull or sharp horror, Iceman simply observed that it was an effective way to do it. If they didn't freeze to death, the lack of air got them in the end. There was no way to get out if their arms were trapped as well. This would do.

Simultaneously, the rest of the cops who had been unable to escape the ice saw it creep up around them. As it reached further up their bodies, it accelerated, so that they were quickly consumed. That was if they were lucky. In some cases, it moved slower. They were the unlucky ones, since they felt their blood slow, then stop altogether. Just as Iceman had calculated, some froze to death, and the rest suffocated.

The reactions were split, with those remaining either trying to shoot again in some sort of misguided hope that maybe this time it would work, or attempting to run away. Of course the guns didn't work, except this time it was the weapons themselves who froze over, the barrels covered in layers of ice that prevented the bullets from getting out. Essentially, any weapons that were left were now useless.

There was a cry close to the door as one man slipped, falling back onto the ice. Iceman's eyes flicked to him, wondering whether to cover him as well. However, something about the way that he was pathetically lying there seemed to call for something else. After all, the original method was quickly becoming unoriginal.

Not that it needed to change too much.

The man, trying to push himself up, felt the inexplicable sensation of the ice shifting slightly underneath him. As he hesitated, from underneath him a freezing spike suddenly shot up, piercing him from his back to out of his chest. He collapsed back again, dead. Blood shone in the strange reflected light created by a room full of ice, glittering at the tip of the stalagmite and spattered across the floor. Some landing on the icicles casing the first cops to go, making it appear that the prisoners were alive and bleeding.

That poetic image flickered into Iceman's mind, and for a few brief seconds it made him smile to himself. Not out of happiness or pleasure, mainly from acknowledging the picture it created. There was recognition of the technique's effectiveness as well. It was good. It would work.

Those left began to feel the ice moving underneath them as well as pieces started to rise at random, creating a treacherously uneven surface. In some cases, the floor under only one foot rose, knocking them off balance and falling to the floor, where they were swiftly impaled.

Others moved back, wary of the rapidly changing floor in front of them, only to trip and fall over a growth behind them. Often it was that very growth that then exploded up through them, spraying yet more blood over the room.

A few managed to remain standing, either through luck or perhaps a natural sense of balance. It made no difference though. The icicles simply pierced them from beneath, travelling the length of their bodies before emerging from their heads. Grotesquely, they then didn't fall to the ground, but were instead held up by the ice which had killed them. They stood like mannequins, with the ice dripping their own blood back down on them.

One cop ran, somehow staying on her feet without slipping or tripping. Stalagmites shot up behind her, marking the path she had taken. From the speed that they formed, it was clear that if she stopped even slowed for an instant, she would die.

Iceman followed her with his eyes, barely paying attention to the few cops that his powers were still spearing. The emotion that flickered through his mind couldn't be called anger or even annoyance, yet there was definitely a certain weariness amidst the blankness.

Moving targets could be so difficult.

The ice in front of her rose to block her off, but she veered around it. She practically vaulted over the other high sections, and then turned sharply at incredibly short notice to avoid others. It was as impressive as it was aggravating.

With a sigh, Iceman raised his hand towards her, palm out. A stream of freezing air flowed out, small ice crystals shimmering inside as they formed. As it travelled, the crystals began to merge together, growing larger and larger. Gradually two sharp icicles were created, carried by the air.

When Iceman moved his hand again, they suddenly gained speed, whistling through the air towards the woman. At the last moment she heard them coming and span around. Ignoring her scream, they pierced her shoulders and drove her back through their momentum, pinning her to a wall of ice that had formed behind her for precisely this purpose.

Some vague instinct in Iceman's mind told him that he should do something here. Make some kind of comment or joke, or smile in some way. Then he glanced down and saw John's body again, and that cliché froze into the rest.

This time he threw his whole arm out. The wind was fiercer and colder than before, and the single icicle shaped far faster, huge within seconds. It shot across the hall towards the cop, aimed for her heart.

She didn't cry or whimper. There weren't any begs for mercy. However, she did let out the most godforsaken scream that had ever been heard in the lives of anybody present. It continued, becoming increasingly shrill and panicked; until it was abruptly cut off as the icicle stabbed through her chest, driving itself clear through to the other side, where it embedded itself in the block of ice.

The sudden silence that followed was almost as deafening as that scream. Nothing moved, not even the air. The building was freezing cold, an obvious result of the layers of ice that coated everything within. Even without Iceman's direct thoughts, these had continued to spread, sealing up windows and slowly moving under the doors to the outside world.

Iceman hardly made a sound. He stood there, looking at it all, with his breathing distinctly slower and quieter than natural. As the seconds passed, he seemed to become less and less noticeable, slowly blending in so that he looked like just another shape of the ice.

No emotion registered on his face. There was no pity, fear, horror, or even anger. All that could be seen was a strange disinterest in everything his eyes settled on.

Then, suddenly, his expression changed. As his gaze was drawn down once more to the body at his feet, a look of pure hatred appeared. Not openly hostile, but a cold hatred that could conceivably last forever. His lips drew back from his teeth and he let out a low, animalistic hiss.

There was an unexpected scraping sound as the ice shifted again. Parts chosen apparently at random began to twist whilst others burst outwards into deadly spikes. Some grew larger until they turned back on themselves and broke through into the deeper layers.

In numerous cases, hundreds of frozen tendrils grew out of the ground layers to attack the blocks which encased the cops. The woman pinned up was soon barely visible through the thickening new pieces which had skewered her again and again.

It didn't seem to make any difference though. The hatred need more, it needed something else. The whole room looked as if it was tearing itself apart to please him, but it wasn't enough.

A screeching sound of tearing metal from behind Iceman made him turn his head slightly; reaching out as he saw others standing there, others that he could kill…

Then a sharp pain erupted from the back of his head. His world exploded into hot white light, then faded to black just as quickly as he collapsed to the floor, lying unmoving next to John's body.

* * *

Magneto gestured and the piece of metal moved away from Iceman's collapsed figure. Another movement and two more pieces, flatter and larger than the previous one, wrenched themselves free of the cells beneath him and floated upwards. 

As they flew over his head, he found himself smiling. Without looking at Mystique, he said, "Do you still doubt me, my dear?"

She walked up to stand beside him, watching the two bodies. "He could have killed us. He almost did." Her voice didn't reveal approval or displeasure, offering no obvious feeling to her observations.

"They _both_ could have killed us, and that was acting alone." Magneto pointed and the two pieces lowered, slowly sliding each one under a separate mutant. "Imagine what they could do together."

"Both of them lost control as well. That made them vulnerable. You're going to have to do something about that." Her eyes followed the two teenagers as they were lifted up on the makeshift stretchers.

The mutant they had set free coughed quietly, almost apologetically. "Um…Maybe I missed something, but ain't the dude on the right dead?"

Magneto began to stride towards the doors, followed by the two conscious members of his Brotherhood and the others carried alongside them. "Not yet, I don't think. Wounds can be dealt with."

He paused, and twisted around to survey the station which they were leaving. A stream of light from overhead highlighted the ice, momentarily blocking the view of the corpses trapped inside. Small piles of ash could be seen suspended inside the layer across the floor as well; remnants of Pyro's handiwork.

All of this had been so unanticipated. The force, the power, the application and execution… These boys had been hidden for far too long, if they could even surprise _him_. It was all far better than he had ever hoped for.

He turned back towards the doors, content. "I think, my dear—" he offered her a self-satisfied smile, "—that this game becomes more interesting daily.

"I can hardly wait for Charles' next move."

* * *

**Author's Notes:** So. This is what is technically called a Long Chapter. These types of chapters scare and annoy me, since they are a complete pain to type up. Damn my decision to handwrite these things first… You know the best part? The next chapter is, if anything, longer. And even more devoid of content. Hoorah! 

Yes, I know I exceeded the three month update limit I somehow agreed too. In my defence, I was trying to type up a Bobby/John one-shot (because it suddenly occurred to me that I've never really written a gay kiss before. Or any kiss, for that matter). Speaking of which, that's my next update, so hopefully expect that before Christmas. If not, check at the New Year.

My God, this chapter got weird. First it's like the biggest, most boring introspective ficcy ever, then, as my notes say, went just a bit macabre here…and kinda carried away. Who knew that I'd enjoy killing police guys this much? Hypothetically, I mean. It might be interesting to note that whilst I use the word cops in the story, as a British-type person I don't actually call them that. I think I only started using it to fit in with Pyro's point of view last chapter, and it sorta stuck.

Speaking of which, can I just say that I loved the fact that out of all of your reviews (I LOVE YOU PEOPLE!), most of them were along the lines of OMG! Poor Bobby! or Yay! Evil Bobby!, and surprisingly few people seemed to care about John getting shot? Priorities are wonderful things, aren't they?

Just before I go onto review replies, I should probably warn you guys that this was in fact most of my original starting idea for the story. Wait just a sec for me to find the old notebook… A good quarter or so of the story idea is as follows:

When J is shot (somewhere), B - all-out powers, eg. ICICLES! Huge ones coming out of the floor, impaling people!

…I'm not a complete psycho, really. I just got bored during a Duke of Edinburgh practice expedition… But don't worry, the plot doesn't end here. (Who's worrying?) Plenty of angst/bad writing to come. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, we have reached what I like to think of as a marker that separates out the plot. After here we get angst, and of course the slash. Two chapters until it gets interesting! Oh help…

Solo Maxwell-Yamato: Wow. Europe trip-ness sounds amazing. Little worried by the liking John getting shot, but I'm ashamed to say that your Bobby Revenge capitals sounded an awful lot like me…

Serious Fan: Yay, somebody liked my descriptions! I always think I get carried away with these big observations, but you liked that one! And I guess this chapter answers the question about the room freezing.

sreiviper: I do try to wrote the two of them interacting okay, since that's a pretty important part of the story. Sorry to leave you waiting for so long for an update.

Silent Angel 1291: Bwahahaha! I do love the evil cliffhangers, yes I do. I do actually feel pretty sorry for Rogue, but I'm afraid that's pretty much how she's going to react. And if you want a camera, I'll lend you mine, but only if I get copies of the photos!

X fuji X: No! Not the periwinkle crayon! Anything but that! I'm sorry I took so long, but don't hurt it!

TanyaPotter: I should feel guilty for torturing characters like this. I love being evil.

BluePuppeta.JAA: Ooo, name change. Exciting. And yes, I meant John got hit by a gun (as in a bullet from a gun, not a gun thrown at his head, that'd just be silly). Heh, if you think the being burnt into a crisp was violent, hope you enjoyed the impaling-with-icicles. I did really want to have Xavier not being all-powerful for once, since in the movies it's always going If he was here, he'd fix everything!. Aw, don't insult crying Bobby, he's adorable! In my head, at least. Damn, still not perfect. I'll get it someday, and your little dog too!

rry: Almost 4 months, that's still better than 7, right? Eating people seems a little extreme, but then again so is freezing them. And dammit, I wanted to see Transformers, but I missed it!

Firerose: Your review did not suck, it made me happy! And I guess you could say yes, Bobby does crack in this chapter. Not so that you'd notice, though.

Chaos princess2: Thank you for your favourite! And I feel so guilty for shooting John now.

SSl4Goku: If Omega means killing people, then yes.

Coletterby: Eep, hope you didn't die from lack of oxygen. On the plus side, I did enjoy my holiday a lot. Seems so long ago… Oh yeah, that's because it was.

OEgirl: Um…Yes, I did stop there. And I have updated. Please don't hurt me.

CtcKid: And here is more. Enjoy!

wow: It didn't end there, don't worry. And here is Bobby letting go!

Marcus1233: Okay, can I just say that I will love forever for taking the time to review every chapter? Glad you liked everything, particularly the manipulation (so much fun to write!). Horrific for Bobby to watch, but apparently that doesn't stop him killing people himself. I'd reply to all your other reviews, but I don't really want to take up too much space. Trust me, they're appreciated!

White-Dragon-Of-Hope: Glad you like it! Too bad that update soon doesn't seem to be something I'm good at…

Sckitzo and Insomniac: Well, John's still nearly dead, but at least you got Bobby's reaction. 1 out of 2 ain't that bad…

Whoa, that was a lot. Not that I'm complaining, but I think I've done something painful to my neck. Keep reviewing though, it makes the pain worth it!

(Anybody else watch Heroes? Any fangirls/boys out there?)


	9. Chapter Eight: Wounded

**Warnings for Story:** Slash of the Bobby/John variety.

**Warnings for Chapter:** Introspective (lots), more weird flashbacks (so be warned for confusion), some weird dream-like sequences (see the word fire more times than you ever dreamed possible!) that make no sense, possible OOC X-Men, general what the hell?-ness.

**Chapter Eight: Wounded**

The heat on his face was scorching. The sensation felt bizarre, out of place, undeniably _wrong_ somehow, and yet it was still there. It simultaneously pushed and pulled at him, moving him away even as it drew him closer.

At first he'd taken the darkness around him for granted, something natural, but gradually John realised that his eyes were still tightly closed. Slowly he opened them, feeling as if he was pushing against a barrier made by the temperature.

Once they were open, he thought they were still shut, as the blackness in front of him did not alter. Then blurred colours began to seep into his vision: reds, oranges, yellows, golds, all mixed together. Every one of them was strangely familiar on a level higher than just labelling them, although it took a moment to realise how he knew them.

He'd seen every one of them before in the fire he used. People never appreciated how many shades fire had, but he was still finding fresh ones. There were some here that were new, imperceptibly merging in with the rest.

For some reason, the exact shapes remained blurry. Still, he didn't need to see that clearly. Pyro knew enough about fire to recognise it.

From what he could gather, there was some sort of inferno burning directly in front of him, free to move and mould itself however it liked with no restrictions. Smaller flames had broken away from it, circling towards him. Interestingly, none of it had yet moved behind him.

Possibly slightly more worrying was the fact that he didn't feel scared.

He tried to turn to see if there was anything else, but his body was fixed in place/ HI legs refused to move, and when he tried to lift his hand, all he saw was a small dark form against the burning light.

This place was so strange, and yet he felt a bizarre sense of déjà vu. Again, he didn't remember why immediately. Time didn't seem to be that obvious here; something only made worse by the way his mind kept drifting away to the blaze. Whenever it did, the flames would seem to gain further energy from somewhere and leap closer towards him. It was so hypnotic that it was hard to think of anything else.

The memory finally clicked into place as he wrenched his mind back once more. When they'd been on the helicopter, flying back from Alkali Lake—

_"Am I really worth it?" _

_"What were you expecting?" _

_"I can't go back. Not now." _

_"Just remember that I'm here when you need me. _If _you need me." _

'_Bobby…'_

—he'd felt something, like thousands of flames were igniting inside his mind, all rushing to burn as much as possible—

_Water rushing over flames, not true flames, putting them out… _

—and something had happened, something to stop them spreading—

_…death, no more fire, no more burning… _

—and then…and then…

Nothing. His mind abruptly cut out there, drawing away towards the fire again, following its movement and trying to plunge deeper inside.

What had happened there? The images had suddenly come all at once, mixed and confused and undeniably powerful. They'd looked distorted, as if seen through a heat haze, with every shade of red, orange, yellow or gold glowing stronger than the rest, casting a tinted light over the scenes. It made each scene seem the same, distinctive details disappearing.

Bobby was the only figure who stood out. By all rights he should have followed the rules, reduced to the colours of fire. Instead he appeared different because the filter refused to cover him. Even his blonde hair looked faded and out of place.

In a strange way, it was like he was separate from anything else nearby. The reds, oranges and the rest made him look like a shadow, a shape defined by the objects around him. It was as if the fire refused to accept him because he mainly belonged to its opposite.

The memories faded away too quickly for any in-depth analysis though. Just as rapidly and intensely as they had arrived, they vanished again, leaving only the towering flames.

They looked closer than before. While the memories had been playing in such vivid detail, the fire had slowly crept forwards. When he was watching, it remained where it was, but he could almost sense it waiting for him to glance away again. If he was distracted by his memories once more, it could gain more ground.

He wasn't really sure what would happen if it touched him.

* * *

Bobby's eyes slowly fluttered open.

At first all he could see was white. Then he saw edges and realised that he was staring at a ceiling. There were several cracks in it that occasionally joined together, which ruled out any fancy notions about heaven or an afterlife. Not unless the next world was much closer to this on than anybody had ever told him.

The other problem with his supposed death was the dull ache in his head, not to mention a certain strange exhausted feeling in every muscle. Despite the fact that his mind was wide awake, his body felt tired.

Every feeling was dimmed though, as if happening a long way away. The pain in his head felt more like pressing an old bruise than anything else, even though that made no sense. A few of the memories which were beginning to drift back to him reminded him something that had hurt so much in an instant, something that was enough to knock him unconscious. That didn't match up with the slightly numb sensation here.

He tried to flex his fingers. They were curiously reluctant to move, but otherwise they seemed fine. As he carefully tried to move the rest of his muscles, instinctively checking himself for any further damage, he felt nothing except that weird weariness. More than anything, it was like waking up the next day after staying up until five in the morning.

It wasn't until after a few minutes that he realised that anything else was different. Everything that he registered was being examined and filed away without any emotion coming into it. He remembered doing this before in the mornings, except there had always been some extra feeling attached to discoveries, even if it was just relief at still being intact after a Danger Room session or plain annoyance at waking up early.

Strangely enough, when he strained, he could only dimly recall what he had felt before. It was like watching somebody else's reactions in a film, where you saw them without any real connection or understanding. All of those old memories seemed separate from him now.

A faint noise caught his attention and he glanced to his left. Mystique was standing there, arms crossed, watching him intently. One of her small, secretive smiles crossed her face when she saw him look at her.

"That's one of you then. Anything hurt?"

The words sounded innocent enough, possibly even bordering on caring. However, something instinctive in Bobby analysed them in a second, telling him that they were carefully calculated, just like everything else about her.

"Not really. Just a headache." For some reason the words cane out differently to how he remembered speaking before. His first instinct was to label his voice as dead, except that wasn't quite right. There wasn't a lack of life; it was simply missing any of the normal stresses that came into it naturally.

It sounded dead because there was no emotion in it.

From the strange flicker in her eyes, he could tell that she had spotted the change as well. It was only a small giveaway; most people would have probably missed it. Bobby's memory told him that yesterday he would have missed it too.

Except that sounded so stupid. It looked so obvious to him now. Every little movement seemed to catch his eyes, to be recognised and remembered later. He felt as if he couldn't miss a thing.

"Nothing else?" She moved to stand directly facing the bed, so that the only way for him to keep watching her was to lift up his head. Unfortunately, his neck refused to respond. She'd been expecting that, he could tell by how she'd moved. She was emphasising his weakness while putting herself in a position of power.

It sounded so melodramatic, so completely over the top, yet he still registered and analysed each point as easily and naturally as breathing. His mind itself was working differently, altering his perceptions in turn. That wasn't right; he knew that wasn't right, so why did it feel so normal?

He almost didn't say anything. A frighteningly alien voice in his head told him not to, but it was that which gave him the incentive to force the question out. "What…What happened to me?"

Instinctively he flinched as she suddenly leant forwards, both hands whipping out to support her as she stared intensely across the bed at him. "You don't remember?" she asked, her voice strangely eager. Maybe she just liked the idea of his mind being as messed up as it felt.

A blurry recollection did push itself into his mind at that point, possibly jarred loose by her expression. However, rather than help with whatever caused this, it instead showed him Mystique talking to him somewhere he didn't immediately recognise. Outside where they'd been before? What was she saying?

Even as he thought that, the image seemed to stand still, then replay itself obediently in front of his eyes exactly how it had been the first time.

_"What are you willing to do for him if that happens? What are you willing to become?" _

Better not to comment on that now, although it raised a very good point: What _had_ he become? He definitely felt different to before, not merely in the physical tiredness but also deeper down inside. It was hard to describe, mainly because there seemed to be nothing there. A nothing that felt wrong, that could only be defined by its absence from its surroundings.

More than anything else, more than the sheer lethargy, more than the questions that both he and Mystique were asking, more than the instant calculative analysis and vivid recall, he felt…

Numb.

There was nothing left to feel. When he strained for emotions, he found them somehow out of reach. After each try, he discovered that he cared less and less about its implications.

He'd heard of this feeling before from others, where it got so cold that your skin couldn't feel anything. In a bizarre way, it was similar to burning yourself. For the time that it took to recover, your body's senses in the damaged areas essentially shut down.

There was one problem with that comparison though. Nobody had ever said anything about experiencing this in any way other than physically. So why did it feel as if his mind…his _emotions_…all of him had been numbed by ice? Frozen and left with no way to thaw out again.

Thawing… You needed heat for that. Fire. It was how they'd always balanced each other out before. Fires were frozen and ice was melted, simple as anything. Maybe this could be fixed just as easily. All he had to do was find—

Another memory flashed through his mind then, glimmering and in crystal clear focus.

_And then, horribly, nightmarishly, he watched— _

There was a quiver there, inside him. Could he feel something after all? Or was it simply a reaction to the frightening clarity of image replaying itself?

_--crumple to the ground and lie there. As still as the dead. _

'_No. No. Nonono…' _The wave of denial came from nowhere, washing over him and refusing to vanish like every other sensation had once it reached him. The despair and even fear that followed endured in the same way.

"Mystique," he said quietly, still not managing to express any of the newfound emotions through his voice, or indeed through anything other than his mind. "Where's John?"

* * *

The flames were getting closer to him, and there was nothing he could do about it. Simply watching them made him feel so pathetic, except there was no other real choice.

Now that it occurred to him, his body wasn't just hanging there; it was stiff like a doll's. Useless. Like when you have a nightmare and you can't run away, no matter how hard you try, as if it's not you in that body. His muscles might as well have burnt away already.

Thinking about it though, he didn't know that he'd burn. It seemed like a logical belief, yet he had a strange sense that something was…off. There was no other way to describe it really. John knew fire as well as anybody could, and something about this fire didn't feel right.

Then again, he'd been wrong about these things before.

He was pretty certain that something would happen to him if the fire touched him though. Judging by the bizarre circumstances, it wasn't likely to be a small singe or a light burn. He couldn't move to get away and those flames were easily large enough to flash-fry a forest.

Or perhaps not. Perspective was completely guessed at here. The crackling mass of red, orange, yellow and gold in front of him was all he could see, so there was nothing he could compare it to. He couldn't even look down to see himself.

The slightly bizarre thing (beyond the original situation) was that with every foot or so closer that the fire reached, John became less and less aware of his own body. He wasn't sure if it was because he was becoming more distracted or if there was something far more sinister going on. When he tried to think about it, his mind just started drifting off again.

_His father was glaring down at him, pointing at the door, ignoring the quiet, pathetic whimpers of the woman behind him… _

_His mother was holding him in the cupboard, a duvet wrapped around them both, trying to keep a six year old quiet enough for them not to be discovered, so that they could finally sleep… _

_Another woman was kissing his father, out on the streets, without his mother knowing but with John watching wide-eyed and trying to think of what to do… _

John wrenched himself away from those memories. They were coming from further back in time now, creeping backwards through the years. He'd heard of people dying seeing their lives flash before their eyes, but this seemed different. The time in between memories went so slowly, and when they crept up on him, they passed by so quickly. Nobody had ever mentioned it working in reverse either.

Of course, the only people who would really know how it worked weren't exactly in a position to tell anybody else.

Even if they could somehow let the world know, John was pretty certain that his situation would still be a mystery. He could be dead, yet he felt enough to imagine he was alive. Being able to see or think at all might indicate he was still living, although there was no way of telling if that was just how death was. The mind has to go somewhere, after all.

He guessed that it must be hot, especially since the flames had only grown in size rather than shrink. Strange that he wasn't registering it anymore. At the most it felt like a brief tingling burn from leaning against a radiator for too long, as opposed to the sweltering desert-like temperatures which he had experienced before.

That was bad, wasn't it? If he was adapting, then going back would be harder. He might not even want to leave at all.

Still, that assumed that it was possible to go back. John didn't even know how to start. For all intents and purposes, he was trapped here.

And the fire was only getting closer.

* * *

The woman's face was a gruesome mask of terror. Eyes wide, features twisted, mouth open in a silent scream. Her arms were held up in front of her to try and ward something off or maybe to fight her fate.

The whole effect was made worse by the fact she was dead. Dead and frozen in place.

Wolverine stood in front of her, staring, for some reason unable to really take it all in. He'd seen the news of course; they all had. But, as he had found so many times just in the small section of his life which he could remember, reality was always worse than any descriptions.

Take this woman, for example. The news had completely failed to properly describe the tortured expression alone, let alone the monstrosity of ice that had impaled her over and over again. There was blood in the ice itself, tingeing it with a light red. It unnerved him, because despite seeing blood, he couldn't smell it. The ice blocked it out.

It was the same for the rest of what remained of what had been a police station. With the amount of bodies and signs of fire, he should have been practically overwhelmed by the stench. Instead, all he could smell were the living people overseeing the area and the frosty smell of the ice. It brought back memories of the snowy landscape near Alkali Lake, and he didn't like it.

"Logan?" Caught up in the world of scent, Ororo's unexpected touch made him flinch. Turning, he could tell that she was worried, almost frightened. You didn't need any special senses to be able to see that much.

Their eyes met for a few seconds, before she looked away at the frozen woman. "They're going to try to thaw out the bodies, with their families' permission. They're saying that it's more important to let them be buried, since it looks obvious how they—" The last word seemed to catch in her throat, the shock at the event and the aftermath simply adding to the events at Alkali Lake just a few days ago.

"Besides, they want to get to…to..." A swallow covered up any traces of tears in her voice. It was the closest Logan had ever seen her come to actually breaking down. And even now, she was determined to try and hide it. "They want to get to the ashes. They think that they can identify everybody with enough DNA, so that's their main priority."

Apart from the slips, there was nothing in her voice to betray what her eyes showed. Cautiously, keeping an eye on the clear skies outside, Wolverine probed further. "Do you know how long we've got 'til they kick us out of here?"

A small cloud drifted across as she answered, "We're not supposed to be here officially. The Professors' masking us so that we're only noticed if we draw attention to ourselves."

"Best stop playing with the weather then," Logan muttered, watching several more clouds cover the sun while they all began to grow dark and heavy with rain. When the room turned dark, Storm followed his line of sight and sighed, waving a hand to dismiss them.

"I'm sorry. It's just…" She trailed off, looking around them. Her eyes lighted on a cop lying flat on his back, staring unseeing straight up at the ceiling, a stalagmite reaching into the air through his body. His position was mirrored by others around him, while many piles of ash could be seen suspended in the ice between them.

The image apparently gave her some sort of strength, or at least determination, since she spoke again more firmly without moving her gaze away. "It's hard to believe that we know the ones who did this. We _trained_ them."

Logan nodded, understanding the emotions that she was trying to suppress. Then he looked at her, suddenly aware of another layer to her feelings. "It's not your fault. They got the same chance that the Professor gives everyone in that place. The difference is that they changed their minds, that's all."

"And then they caused this." Ororo tried to act normal, even force a smile, yet instead her eyes glimmered with unexpected tears. Irritably she wiped them away, annoyed by the weakness. She'd learnt that crying didn't make any difference before she was barely ten years old, so repeating herself this soon after shedding so many tears over Jean Grey merely made her vulnerable. "I'm sorry; I haven't been sleeping that—"

"Forget it." Wolverine was tempted to say something further, but decided against it. Now wasn't the time, and he definitely wasn't the person she should be talking to. Instead, he pointed out, "They didn't do this on their own. You can bet that Magneto was pushing them on the whole way."

"Then they should have known better!" Storm snapped, her sudden fury reflected in a single streak of lightning striking the roof. Fortunately the building was still protected against anything like that, except perhaps she wouldn't have cared either way. "John was bad enough, but Bobby…"

At the mention of the latter, her anger apparently vanished as suddenly as it had surfaced. Her body itself sagged, echoing her thoughts. "This doesn't seem like him, Logan. Something's wrong."

Her companion was checking around them to make sure the lightning hadn't attracted any unwanted attention. Most of the cops had jumped at the sound of the thunder which had followed, yet only one FBI agent close to the edges was looking a little too closely at them. Maybe his increased interest attracted the Professor's attention though, since he soon turned away to examine another body with one of her colleagues without any noticeable hesitation.

Still watching her in case of one of those tricks the FBI was so good at, Wolverine responded, "Not just how he's acting. His smell's changed, and that ain't natural."

The looks she gave him was inevitably confused, with worry there as well. "Could he change it deliberately?"

"Think you're giving the kid too much credit. 'Sides, it's deeper than some new shampoo or whatever, and he's not alone. Pyro's is different too." He sniffed, trying to get a firmer hold on it. "It's hard to get anything around here, but… Something smells burnt, and all the obvious stuff's buried under a foot of ice."

"And Bobby?" Something in her voice warned him not to try to lie to her. "What can you pick up from him?"

He didn't answer straight away, needing to focus on what he was doing. He knew his strange sniffing tended to annoy – even scare – most people, so he tried to save it for when it was actually required. With the ice masking most of the room, this was one of those times.

Finally he spoke slowly as certain traces filtered through to him. "He was here, same as ever at first. He got scared. Then he…" Wolverine frowned as he sorted out the different images coming to him into something he could describe so that she could understand.

"I think somebody got shot. Probably Pyro, 'cause the gunpowder's all mixed up with sulphur. After that…" Bobby's scent was spread out, almost across the whole room. That didn't make any sense though, because it didn't look like he'd moved from that one section near the entrance from the cells. What was that supposed to mean?

"Something happened. Something with his powers." That was the reason, he realised: Iceman's smell was too similar to the ice he created for them to be easily separated. "He froze, like the rest of this place."

Ororo waited, but her friend had apparently finished. Sighing, she looked around the station as she mentally signalled the Professor. "If that's the case, we don't need to stay here. We'd better get back to the mansion."

Logan nodded, his mind already rushing back to what would be waiting back there. Or rather, _who_.

"God, I'm sorry, Rogue."

* * *

There wasn't much of his life left to remember. A few flashes of a crib and his mother, nothing more. His whole lifetime, an entire seventeen years, everything gone so quickly.

He could have sworn there had been more to it than that, although his mind couldn't come up with anything else. All he wanted was for there to be one little thing left, just one more vivid memory. As much as he searched though, there was nothing.

The fire was so close now. Too close. He'd long since accepted that if it touched him, that would be it. Game over, thanks for playing, please try again. Still, with each inch it crept forwards, he could feel the fear grow inside him. After seeing what little there seemed to be of his life, he was more certain than ever that he didn't want to die. Not like this, at least.

Unsurprisingly, the flames didn't care. If anything, they grew higher and stronger, sending out fresh waves of heat (strange, he could sense that now, just a bit). Pyro welcomed them, drawing them deep inside himself. In away, that part of him was already joining with it.

As they approached and his life trailed away, John could feel small pieces of him starting to burn away. There wasn't any pattern he could see, merely various memories or thoughts. Anything and everything, in no particular order.

One very boring history lesson. Gone.

His old school as a kid. Gone.

The smell of his mother's cigarettes. Gone.

His father's face. Gone.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to forget it all. There was a lot of his life he'd rather not remember. Besides, there were whole sections of his memories that were simply getting stronger. Any emotions were intensifying, colouring their scenes in vibrant shades as the details faded away.

Emotions and fire. Anything connected to flames or his powers was apparently staying too. That was something, he guessed. Or would they go too when the inferno finally reached him?

There was something else as well, underneath it all. Something that hadn't been immediately obvious when he'd seen his memories flash past nearly faster than he could follow, yet was now becoming clearer as the thoughts around it were burnt away. It was starting to link together in a way he hadn't expected.

The strange hatred that had bordered on what felt weirdly like jealousy the first time he'd met Rogue.

A bizarre light-headedness as he felt a freezing hand against his skin.

An unexpected happiness when a friend gave up his whole upbringing to stay with him.

His mind was growing hotter, the thoughts of flame causing sparks and the heightened emotions warming the rest. Entire scenes were burning up from the inside as a surprising heat started to form at the core. Even if the approaching firestorm didn't reach him somehow, he might be able to finish the job himself.

And yet, even as John found himself considering giving into the overwhelming heat, there was, impossibly, some cold rising up from somewhere. The world around him was trying to melt it, but at the same time his own emotions were trying to protect it. It was as if his feelings for that one chilled fragment were almost stronger than the element that was attempting to consume him.

Almost. This was a fight, plain and simple, even if John was completely aware of it yet, and there was no way Pyro would let any part of John survive. If it meant turning on the same emotions that had helped to build his powers in the first place, then so be it.

After all, how long could any ice possibly survive surrounded by pure fire?

* * *

The Danger Room wasn't the only place to train at Xavier's. It simply wasn't practical to expect all students and staff members to use it, especially when it was limited to one use at a time. For that reason, the mansion also boasted a large gym, fitted with nearly every piece of equipment that its users could imagine.

Back when everything had been normal, before Bobby had been stolen from her, Marie had only come in here when it was necessary. Training sessions or lessons usually, or hanging around with two guys who thought they had something to prove. Average teenage stuff, with no hint of how it would all be torn apart.

Since then, Rogue had found herself wandering in here more and more often. Sometimes she did it deliberately to avoid people – encouraged exercise could be surprisingly useful – and other times she wasn't aware of making a conscious decision to do so. However, the regular workouts turned out to be soothing, giving her something else to focus on while still ensuring that she only got better.

Once she discovered the hefty punching bags close to the back of the gym, it became practically impossible to find her anywhere else in the mansion. Lessons continued as they always had, but Rogue increasingly found her attention drifting away to the few sessions she'd had with Wolverine so far or to the gym. Within less than a week, she almost didn't recognise the girl from before. It was like two different people, with only their faces in common.

The punching bags were useful because they acted as both workout and therapy. There was something about letting yourself go without any restraint, smashing the leather with an amount of force that wasn't allowed against a person when it was only practice. It was all too easy for Rogue to start imagining faces on the bag.

Or rather one face in particular.

Today that image was stronger than ever. Her surroundings blurred into insignificance, while the bag nearly seemed to become a solid person. Exactly what she needed.

Vaguely she was aware of voices around her. They were probably trying to talk to her, yet she didn't care. Whatever they had to say could just wait until she decided to hear it.

The few words whose meaning filtered through to her were recognisably Logan's. Maybe that was the reason she let herself hear them in the first place. It didn't stop her from carrying on punching though.

"Kid, I went to the station—"

The station. She'd heard about it on the news. An insane number of people had died there, she'd registered that much, except she solely cared about the ones responsible. Did that make her as bad as them?

"Looks like both of them did it, and they didn't hold back—"

No matter how many times she lashed out, the mental picture in front of her never changed. Pain shot up her arm, increasing with the strength of each punch, yet his face remained unchanged, right down to the victorious smirk that she longed to remove permanently. Why couldn't she watch him bleed? She wanted to hurt him, was that so hard to achieve?

"I'm sorry, kid. I don't want to say this, but Bobby seemed to—"

She spoke then, not pausing for one second in her motions. "It's not him."

There was a worried silence, followed by, "I know there's something not right here. Still, it's something wrong with him, that's all."

"Pyro's making him do it." The hateful name was accompanied by a particularly hard punch as she spat it out. She refused to call him anything more personal though. The mere thought of him made her want to do things she'd never even considered before, bad things, things that would get her chucked out of here for sure.

"Kid, he's not a telepath, he—"

"I don't care!" The power behind her attacks was sending the bag swinging away from her, forcing her to wait for it to come back. She shifted impatiently, the frustration at the delay only making her urge to lash out in any direction grow by the second. "I don't care about powers, I know he did something! Whatever anybody else says, that wasn't Bobby at the station! Pyro made him do it somehow!"

It had all fallen into place in the night after the broadcast. During the news, she hadn't been able to think straight. She'd seriously thought that Bobby had left her to become this. Afterwards though, she'd realised the truth. This was another part of Pyro's plot. He was the bad guy after all; these little manipulations and mind games were what bad guys did.

If Logan answered her, the words faded away into the background. The desire for revenge had boiled up once more, going from the steady simmer that lent her strength to the sheer power that could get her what she wanted. Pyro had already stolen Bobby from her, and now he was brainwashing him into becoming something he wasn't.

Marie knew these stories. It was the duty of the one left behind to save the one who had been taken and to kill the one who had done it. She'd never say that out loud of course, already guessing what the reaction would be. Instead she would wait for the opportune moment.

Wait for the time when she could kill Pyro.

* * *

The smallest strand of fire pulled away from the rest, slowly looping and weaving along its own separate path. The independent movement drew the attention of the trapped teenager before it. John's eyes followed it as it created curving patterns in the air, virtually hypnotising him with the movement. Pyro noticed that despite its apparent freedom, it was still part of the blaze behind it.

It wound its way towards him (them?), moving in ever more enticing motions, as if trying to draw the mutant towards it to save time. John was tempted, yet he remained unable to move at all. He could only watch with growing anticipation whilst it lengthened itself outwards to touch him.

Pyro stayed aware, or at least more aware than the more human side of himself. He recognised the game which the fire was playing, drawing out a victim with something small to hide its potential until the opportune moment, but he was content to let it take its course. After all, if it achieved its goal, he would benefit too.

The fire within him would increase beyond even what he had brushed against before he had been sent to this place, and John would be burnt away like the useless thing he was. A perfect solution.

Oblivious to his other half's realisation, John found himself gazing at the trailing spark with practically childlike wonder. When he abruptly found his arm freed without any explanation from whatever held it in place, he reached out unquestioningly towards the swirling light.

It seemed to pause momentarily, as if scared or simply playing with him. Without thinking, he moved his fingers slightly, calling it closer to him. He was still afraid of the burning furnace behind it, no doubt about that. This small trail appeared far less intimidating though. Safe.

He quickly discovered how wrong he was.

The tendril moved again, either at his command or of its own free will (if that was the right phrase in this case). Hesitantly it reached out, almost like a person, and lightly touched his hand.

In an instant, it caught hold and spread as fast as a wildfire, rushing up his arm to cover the rest of his body. As if receiving some unheard command, the waiting fire surged forwards to aid the attack. Within seconds, John was enveloped in a blaze comparable to the heart of the Sun.

The pain was excruciating. He could feel his skin cracking, burning away, trying to grow back (how was that possible? Who was he, Wolverine?), burning again. Before he could stop himself, he opened his mouth to scream. Instantly the flames took advantage of the opening, rushing to consume him from the inside as well.

Insanely, he could feel a strange exhilaration at how deep the flames were going. Some part of him responded to it, glorifying in its power. As John screamed in pain, Pyro laughed in triumph.

As his sight was filled with fire, the only changes being the brief flashes of the shadows that still surrounded him, one last coherent image managed to reach him for a brief moment. Even then it wasn't a whole picture, just the parts, here temporarily and then gone: Blonde hair, blue eyes, a laugh, an impossible blast of cold. They were trying to join together, to form something he could actually recognise, but at the same time were being twisted away from each other by the battling element around them, attempting to reduce them to ashes like all the rest.

* * *

Veins of ice spread across the glass, branching out and joining together as the window creaked under the strain. The source was a hand pressed up against it, although its owner didn't seem to realise. The same explained the growing puffs of condensing air.

Mystique warily watched the teenager next to her, for the first time feeling a slight twinge of unease around him. It could have been the way that his face stayed strangely blank, or more likely the way his powers seemed to be manifesting themselves independently from any obvious control. Whichever it was, something was definitely wrong about him now.

The same for the one inside the room they were looking into through the frozen window. The temperature around had kept escalating since they'd brought him back, to the extent that it was already too dangerous to go anywhere near him for any length of time.

Her eyes narrowed as she peered past the traces of ice. There was a heat haze above Pyro that had just thickened far beyond what had been in an impossibly short space of time. What now?

When a sudden chill passed across her body, she turned her attention back to Iceman. His hand had tensed against the glass, the added pressure threatening to shatter it entirely. On the opposite side, she could see the ice starting to melt, creating a virtual waterfall that blurred the view of Pyro almost completely.

Watching his expression, Mystique realised that it wasn't his powers that worried her, it was his eyes. The emotion, or rather lack of it, behind them gave him an inhuman appearance that would unsettle anyone. Something about the way he looked at Pyro as well, something she couldn't put her finger on.

Slowly she backed away down the corridor. She was retreating, she wasn't afraid to admit it. All she needed was a few minutes to adjust to the change, that was all. The same way Magneto had withdrawn to plot his next moves.

It was still a game, after all. A few changed pieces, a few new rules. And Mystique wouldn't let herself get beaten that easily by just two boys. Not when it was such a _good _game.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Damn. It was all going so well before that last section. Okay, maybe not well, but better. Stupid section.

So, couple of days over three months. Actually it's probably more than a couple, but luckily for my sanity I count these things by months, not exact days. Does February mean I have a few extra days? How many excuses can I think of? Oh, never mind.

Ah, more introspective. I really should be getting tired of the inside of Bobby's head, but for some reason I just keep doing it. And it's the return of all that big meaningful representing stuff that should've died with the Phoenix bit (ironically). And more confusing flashbacks. It's like an entire chapter of all the bits that annoy people!

Sorry if some bits of this felt a bit off. Storm seems a little OOC, but I could imagine being a bit upset having two of her students go psycho a few days after her best friend dies… And yes, Rogue is going a little psycho herself. What fun! I enjoy this stuff way too much.

Not a whole lot to say really. The Pyro bits are all kinda…what the hell, but otherwise I think this chapter's a bit better than I remember (since I handwrite these things first, then type them up). I should really shut up if I've got nothing to say, or at least do the reviews…

Serious Fan: Wow, somebody actually reads the notes… And I agree! Yay for evil Bobby! Since he's the whole reason this story got written and all.

MarcoDylan: If it helps, even the writer forgets about this story sometimes… That is the problem with barely ever updating. But thanks for still reading it!

hanahana-chan: Trust me, this development _will_ be affecting the relationship, just as soon as they can do anything without John being unconscious…

Solo Maxwell-Yamato: Well, here's another really long chapter, so at least that's something. The getting hurt thing probably wasn't completely essential, but very useful. And I love your description of last chapter. Perfect.

ScarexCrow: Your review made me so happy! Seriously, I love long reviews. I'm such a junkie. I know there are a few mistakes, since when I look back through these things after putting them up I always end up cringing most of the time. Unfortunately I never read through them first since by the time they're done I don't want to look at them anymore, so sorry if there are even more here! Glad it wasn't too much violence (although I don't remember a bunch of people just getting killed in any of the movies…). Glad you like how the pairing's doing, since not a whole lot's happened so far, so I thought a whole lot of people were going to start hating me from about the third chapter…

rry: Yeah, it would be a little creepy if you just sat (or stood) there and wrote out the whole plot just from guessing… Luckily I can tell you that it will be different (sorta. Gah, so hard to know how to respond to plot guesses!). Glad you liked evil!Bobby, since he's not exactly going away after this. And the –ness is actually next chapter now, so no pressure on me there to make it good. Which it won't be. Damn!

Marcus1233: Woo, long review. So long reply! Ouch, little kids attacking you. Sounds way worse than being pelted by beanbags too, obviously. Okay, so maybe I got carried away with the emotional pain thing. And all-powerful Xavier always annoyed me. Like, the best way of beating the X-Men seems to be just taking him out somehow. Sorry, more introspective here. Lots of it. Whoops. Um, is it good that my minor characters remind you of video game characters? Although now I can't read that section without picturing her doing all Lara Croft style stunts, so thanks for that. Um, the missing word was you, as in I will love _you_ forever for taking the time, sorry about that. Seriously, don't worry about it, any reviews are good. And most of the time the chapters get here eventually… For this story at least.

X fuji X: Um… Do the periwinkle/crayons in general still survive if John just has trippiness for a chapter? Or does it start going into hostage/torture negotiations? Just hang on before you kill everything, okay?

monchy08: Glad you liked it all! Glad you like Bobby like that, or the rest of the story could be a little interesting to say the least.

Firerose: Woot for Heroes! Really worried about seeing the second series though, because everybody says it's really bad. Thanks for reviewing!

JustAnAmateur: …I was close to three months? For some reason writing about cops dying is very therapeutic, which is worrying. Hadn't thought about the amount of detail actually, but I guess I got more than a little carried away. Damn, so close in the score.

SupernaturalGal6: Eep. Your first? Glad you liked it, but I'd really recommend reading some more. And not just because I'm a fangirl, I know there's really cool stuff out there.

SSl4goku: Wow, really? That's pretty impressive, except my betting is that Phoenix would still beat him anyway, since writers everywhere have her as this ultimate power thing (even though she always gets beaten in the end). Glad you like this Bobby though.

Rukie: I made someone cry? Don't know if I should be honoured or ashamed. Um, please don't cry? At least it wasn't 7 months this time. (I am never going to forget that one.)

FREAKSHOW1: Indeed, evil Bobby is yummish. Or some word that actually exists.

omg: Well, here's update! Not much happening, but it's something, I guess.

Sckitzo and Insomniac: Well, we've already had some reactions, so we can safely say that nobody's overjoyed about psycho Bobby. I think Xavier tries not to encourage killing loads of people, so that's probably how he missed that Bobby could do it. Or maybe he knew and tried to stop it. Oh well.

PacificPiratess: Yeah, a very long time, oh dear. I do update, it's just really not as often as anybody would like, including me. If Pyro died, this would be a kinda weird story… And over before I've done a lot of the stuff I still want to do.

Tears Falling Freely: Thought I'd put my reply in here, since I didn't get round to replying immediately (which might have worried you a bit). I'm really glad you liked it so much, and these PMs are always a great way of at least reminding me that I'm supposed to be doings something. Thanks for prodding me, it helped a lot. The worst part is that I very rarely have a good excuse for long delays, especially this time. Sorry!

So, that's it then. See you all at some point hopefully not too far in the future, when we actually get to the proper Bobby/John part of the summary. Or at least more than we have been so far.

(Since I actually got some responses to the Heroes thing, I thought I'd try another one. Any Torchwood fans?)


	10. Chapter Nine: Would You Rather?

**Disclaimer:** X-Men, in all of its bizarre and wonderful incarnations, does not belong to me. I just steal movie characters for my evil plots. #cackles#

**Warnings for Story:** Slash of the Bobby/John variety.

**Warnings for Chapter:** First moment of proper slash, a general sense of `get on with it`, Bobby talking to himself a lot, more of the bizarre `what the hell`-ness, odd title, Rogue speaking her mind, a spot of light swearing. And I think the title might be semi-stolen from a Harry Potter fic.

**Chapter Nine: Would You Rather Burn or Freeze?**

There was a slight shift in the air. A ripple appeared in the haze, shimmering like water as it moved away from the body beneath it. Bobby's eyes followed the movement until it blurred with the rest, either from the heat or because his own eyes were starting to water. A moment later, a sudden stabbing pain told him it was the latter. Still not warm enough for there to be no ice then.

Maybe it never would be. Based on what he'd experienced so far, his ice was starting to become pretty permanent. At an experimental thought, he finally wrenched his gaze away from the hypnotic flowing air down to his hands, where he willed a thin coating of frost. There was a slight resistance, but then the familiar spider webs began to spread across his skin. They stopped upon reaching his sleeve though, continuing underneath. Only for him, then. Too bad he couldn't feel what he knew was there.

That was all it was now. The lack of sensation had become unfortunate, like realising you'd misplaced a pen, rather than how anxious he remembered feeling earlier. This should have been disturbing in itself, except the loss of emotions felt so natural that such a change in attitude was logical. Surely a more organised, more uncluttered mind was a good thing?

In fact, a little more clarity was exactly what he needed now. Clarity could help him understand why he was staring at that haze in the first place, rather than its source. There was nothing to the blur but simple heat, so there was no reason to look there when the real reason for entering this room was right below it, and yet…

For a second his eyes flicked up from his hands to the form below… then looked away almost involuntarily. No reason for it, no sense, yet he couldn't stop it. Something that didn't fit in with this new outlook wouldn't let him. Irrationally though, the image was burnt into his vision despite how vehemently he was trying to avoid it.

Burnt. How appropriate.

Back out there, standing in front of the glass with Mystique, he hadn't had any problem with it. Looking at the body, he had seen just that: a body. Maybe one with some significance, but still nothing unbearable. Now he found it almost impossible to take a glance.

No, this was stupid. Swallowing hard (_'Why?'_), he forced his eyes back and held them there.

It wasn't like John looked d— like he wasn't going to wake up soon. (_'It's just a word, what am I afraid of?'_) While he was unnaturally still, especially for him, he wasn't pale or cold. On the contrary, he looked flushed, and the almost overwhelming temperature was testament to the lack of chill in his skin. By all rights, Bobby shouldn't have been worried. Worry was something that had gone, wasn't it?

A sudden violent hissing sound made him recoil. Without him realising it, the sight had drawn him closer, until his still-frosted hand had brushed against John's arm. Staring down at it, he saw a cloud of steam rising, the ice completely vaporised. It began to reform almost instantly, reacting even quicker to the threat, as Bobby realised that it was the only thing which had saved him from burning his hand, possibly even beyond repair.

Disbelievingly, he raised it before him as the ice thickened, responding to instincts he hadn't been aware of. It wasn't too hard to interpret though: protection from danger. In this case, John.

Pyro had never set him off like this before, or heat, not even in Boston. Maybe it was similar to the police station, except that had been sheer panic sending his powers into overdrive. There wasn't any panic here – couldn't be, really – so a threat was the only real explanation.

As if in response, the heat suddenly flared up, pushing up against him and away from John's body. If he could, he might believe it was trying to get rid of him, except that calm, calculating side of him thought that it was nothing so melodramatic. Just physical forces inducing automatic responses within his body. Which was worrying because Bobby was pretty certain he didn't talk like that.

God, he hoped he wasn't going to end up as a schizophrenic on top of everything else.

Experimentally, he brought his hand to slightly above John's arm, and watched with a more comfortable detached, analytical wonder as it slowly began to melt as fast as it grew.

John was too hot, that was what was bothering him. _'Temperature-wise'_, he added to himself, and then wondered why he thought he needed to make that distinction.

A memory came to him then, clearer than any had been before. A biology class back at the school. The Professor had been explaining evolution; how their bodies naturally adapted to their mutations so that a mutant couldn't be harmed by their own powers. The two of them had been perfect examples, unaffected by the extremes in temperature which would kill anybody else. However, at the same time he had warned them (he did that a lot, now that Bobby thought about it) that even specially designed systems had their limits.

Another burst of heat caused a thin layer of ice to wind its way lightly over Bobby's face. As the chill spread across his skin (wait, he could feel the cold?), he wondered what exactly was John's limit.

Or had he already passed it?

Because that would mean…

Oh God, that would mean his best friend was starting to burn up right in front of him. Oh God, oh God, that couldn't happen, that wasn't supposed to happen, he wasn't supposed to die—

Bobby's hand clenched around John's arm suddenly, gritting his teeth against the hiss of protest and the steam trying to separate them, intending to break off the confused tumble of thoughts that had somehow cut through the absolute clarity which already felt so natural. And yes, within those thoughts were emotions, or something that felt like them, whirling around in his mind like in a hurricane. How had he managed to deal with these before? His memories, refined as they were, didn't help, since they didn't seem to recall feeling anything this intense. Even stranger, the touch had brought something his mind recoiled from, labelling it as pain. Why did that seem so alien now?

Slowly, warily, he released the arm in his grip and took a step back. The emotions remained, yet more muted than before. Another step and they began to recede, along with the curious tingling sensation across his palm. One more and not only had they faded completely, John had become that merely significant body again. Interesting…and not a little worrying.

Still, from this vantage point he could at least analyse the situation without interference from whatever John was doing to him. And it was John, he was pretty certain of that from here. All it took was thinking of him to feel something stirring in the calm he'd only just regained.

There was a pale handprint on John's arm, almost white against the flushed skin around it. As he watched, the lines blurred, spreading out slightly and fading somewhat into the rest, yet it was still noticeably different. Somehow Bobby knew that if he touched it again, it would be much cooler than the nearly oppressive heat still being radiated from around it.

Just one touch that had had such an effect. Logically, if it worked once, then it would work again. Maybe that was what John needed: something to cool him down.

Breathing a little more deeply, Bobby flexed his hands as ice began to cover them. Before he moved forward, he chose the most important point to cover. It wouldn't do to get distracted again.

One breath, then two. For some reason he was hesitating, holding back. Almost like he was afraid, except he wasn't sure what of. John? Stupid. Even unconscious (and that was all it was) and way too hot, he was still just the same annoying roommate from barely a week ago.

Finally he snapped, striding suddenly across the room, pulling up John's shirt (which _really_ shouldn't make his thoughts and heart skip a beat) and pushing an ice-covered hand down onto the flushed skin.

The first sensation was pain, pure and simple. The detached and the emotional halves of his mind both broke off into a mental scream as the ice just disappeared, melting and evaporating both occurring instantaneously. In the brief moment before he could compensate, he began to understand what it meant to burn.

It was only a moment though. While the thought of `OhGodgonnadiehurtspainbloodyidiot` was still there, it occurred to him that he was reacting to the memory, not the current reality, where the pain had already cut off worryingly quickly. Between that and the increasingly familiar feeling of a layer of ice across his palm, he was distracted for a moment by the realisation of what this must look like: Him standing over his friend with a hand on his chest. Feeling said chest did not help at all. He was glad (and yet strangely disappointed) when the ice came between them again.

Admittedly he hadn't really checked, but he hoped he'd managed to get his hand roughly over John's heart, after guessing that was probably the main place to `fix`, for want of a better word. Probably if he focused enough, now that his rational mind was back online, he would be able to recall its exact position from another lesson, except he didn't want to encourage whatever was happening to him. Not right now.

A movement underneath his fingers made him gasp. A beat, surprisingly strong, yet changing speed in a way he didn't like at all. Slow, fast, too fast, and slowing down again. God only knew what it meant. Then, as he stood there, he felt the rhythm slowly even out to something slightly faster than regular. Not much, but he'd take it. The sensation made him smile for some reason, soothing in a way, although that expression already felt alien, like it didn't belong to him anymore.

The seconds passed, then the minutes. The heartbeat stayed roughly the same and, unfortunately, so did John. Maybe Bobby could kid himself that the skin felt a little cooler, but being the way he was, he couldn't tell if that was true. What exactly was he waiting for here?

Not that he didn't care anymore. In fact, as time passed he could feel something not unlike blind panic building up, he just wasn't sure what else he could do. Besides, between that and the cold detachment, he knew which he preferred. Even if it could have told him what to do here.

Looking around, as if he expected some neon sign detailing exact explanations of John's condition (power malfunction?), his attention was drawn by a stray lock of hair lying across his friend's forehead. Nothing too unusual about that, John wasn't exactly well known for perfectly controlled hair, but for some reason this stood out as out of place.

He looked away irritably. This was entirely the wrong thing to be fixating on right now.

A glance back told him it was still there. And still distracting.

Sighing to himself (at least annoyance meant he was still feeling things), he reached out with his other hand and brushed it away. However, as he did so, he felt the heat radiating out from underneath. He didn't need that new side of him to tell him that really wasn't a good thing.

As he wondered whether his attempts to cool John down were having any effect at all, Bobby flinched and bit back a yell at the sudden hiss and rush of steam against his fingers. Without realising it, he'd connected with John's skin. Biting his lip, he stubbornly kept his hand where it was, resisting the pressure. If the heat was really reacting to him this strongly, that only proved he was needed. Or at least his ice.

The heartbeat was still there under his other hand, and still scaring him every time it changed in any way. Even when the steam had distracted him, he had still been aware of it in the background. It nearly seemed like his own in the way that it edged into his mind, with no need to try to hear it when he could feel every beat. The whole thing was strangely intimate, except he refused to let himself think that for too long. There was too much else to consider right now, without needing to worry about where his curiously rebellious thoughts were going.

What else was there though? The skin under his hands was supposedly cooling down (probably too fast at first, then too slowly for his liking), the heartbeat was becoming steadier (or at least less erratic), yet John still looked dead.

No, he wasn't dead. Dead people didn't have heartbeats or give out any heat at all, let alone these extreme levels. John was just being stubborn, as always. Unconscious, not deceased. And, as usual when he decided to act like this, it was Bobby's job to fix it. Just like old times, really.

Vaguely he remembered that you were supposed to talk to people when they were like this, for some psychological reason he didn't recall that Kitty had tried to explain to him a lifetime ago. Unlike temperatures, Bobby didn't really have any natural knowledge here. Then again, he was willing to try anything if there was a chance it might work. Besides, then he might have some sense of actually doing something. Filling the silence with something other than the hiss of steam alone would be a relief.

Feeling a little self-conscious, he coughed nervously before trying. "Er, hello? John?" Okay, that sounded stupid. Come on, what did he want to say? If John wasn't going to react, or if he wanted to provoke him, what did Bobby really want to say?

He bit his lip. Well, if there wasn't going to be a reply, why not just say what he thought?

"So, that's it, is it? You ran off from the school just to end up here? What was the point if this is how you're going to play it? You know, if you'd stayed behind, you might not even have got into this crap in the first place. And if you had, I bet they'd have known what was wrong with you."

Nothing. For some reason, he had been hoping that mentioning the mansion might have provoked his friend a little, but it looked like he shouldn't hold out too much hope.

"I guess that'd be too easy though," he carried on, not bothering to try to sound calm or soothing. Anything other than that weird blankness of earlier sounded so good that he was willing to let it slip into place. "You had to go running off like you had something to prove, like always."

Briefly he hesitated, before deciding there was no real point in holding back here. "And what about me? I gave up everything because I didn't want to lose you, because I thought you were worth it, and then you're gone again and you left me behind."

Abruptly Bobby realised he was yelling, but the emotions were so overwhelming it was hard to stop. "Are you just going to leave me here? Did you even think about me for a second, you crazy Australian idiot?"

Finally he managed to stop himself. He breathed in deeply, closing his eyes, willing himself to focus, and when he spoke again his voice had changed again. Less angry, more calm, but also somehow sadder. If somebody had been listening, they might have described it as `pleading`.

"I mean, what am I supposed to do? I can't go back, can I? I mean—" He broke off, a small, unexpected, hollow laugh stopping the words. "I mean, I could go back, but not really. It'd hardly be the same, not after running off with `the bad guys`. Actually, I'm starting to see why you had a problem with that name as well, which really wouldn't fit in at the school, would it? Anyway, I don't see how it could be any better than being here. It'd be worse, if anything. Back there, know I'd been out here with you and I'd left you when you were like this." In a much quieter voice, he added, "Do you really think I could live with that?

God, he sounded like some upset teenage schoolgirl. That was all he needed.

Swallowing back something unfamiliar, he continued anyway. "God, I could have walked away so many times before, every time you pulled something stupid. It would've been easier, probably." At least that was what he'd like to think. In practice, the fact that he was here at all suggested otherwise.

He leant forwards slightly, looking down so that he would be eye to eye with John if his eyes were actually open. "After all this: the school, the powers, everything, after all that, you can't leave me here, not by myself."

His voice shook again, partly because he could feel that other, colder part of him shift slightly. "I don't know what's wrong with you, and I don't know what's happening to me. I don't know what's going on here, but I don't want to be left on my own, trying to figure it all out."

Trying a little belatedly to make this sound slightly less needy, he added, attempting an extremely unstable smile, "Besides, you know Magneto and Mystique would have a field day if I tried to ask about any of this." Okay, possibly not so useful out loud.

Sighing, he said quietly, "You're my friend, John. Probably the only one I've got left, and really the best one I've had. Definitely the only one I've ever gone this far for." _'Or _would_ go this far for,'_ his treacherous mind added before he could stop it. The thoughts seemed to echo in his mind, distracting him so that at first he didn't realise he had added one last sentence in a much weaker voice:

"I don't want to lose you."

Bobby pulled back at that, as if surprised by what had somehow escaped him. Instinctively he almost stepped away again, until at the last moment that detached part of his mind reminded him that he had to hold on. That reminded him of his hands, focusing his attention once more on the skin underneath them. Irrationally (because really why should he care?) he suddenly felt embarrassed about the no doubt compromising position, but he quickly shoved that aside. Maybe it felt good to feel something; that didn't mean he wanted to feel everything.

That patch on John's chest underneath his hand – _'Which is there for a perfectly logical reason, remember?'_ – still didn't feel cool enough. Had it actually changed at all? Had his ice stopped working altogether, or had it never worked to begin with? Or was Bobby warming up instead?

"You're still too hot, John." The words sounded like they were from a dream, distant, not really addressed to anybody. More like thinking out loud. "How do you fix that?"

'_Oh, sure. It's hard enough getting answers out of him when he's conscious, what do you think he's going to do now?'_ A small smile appeared on Bobby's face as he imagined John's response to the spoken words. There would probably be some sort of innuendo, the same as when Kitty or Jubilee managed to tie themselves up in knots back at the school. Sometimes his friend could be so predictable.

Right now he'd give anything to hear one of those stupid jokes again. If he could just listen to the words one more time, it would mean that everything was okay. Everything could be normal.

"But nothing ever is normal for us, right?" Bobby said out loud, the smile still there as he looked back down at his friend's expressionless face. "You'd probably run off if things started going that way." A cramp in his right arm made him bend it slightly, bringing him a little closer to John as he added with a trace of bitterness, "Again."

He frowned to himself as he saw the still-flushed face closer up. Experimentally he moved his hand slightly, tracing a line across John's forehead. A fresh cloud of steam leapt up, the skin far hotter than he'd been expecting. "Okay, so not that much of a change then."

Peering closely at where his hand had been, he couldn't discern any major difference. Maybe it was a little paler, but was that just wishful thinking? "Why isn't this working?" he muttered, not that surprised when he didn't get an answer.

After glancing down at where he knew his other hand was (no, he didn't really want to pull up John's shirt to see what was happening there), he looked a little closer at his friend's face. In fact, if John actually woke up at that moment, they would be directly eye to eye now. Bizarrely that didn't bother Bobby at all. Perhaps he was just worried about other things at that point.

"Come on. What the hell do you want?" Strange how pleading and frustration could go together so naturally, especially around his friend. "Why do you have to be so bloody difficult?" Their faces were almost touching now, his voice starting to rise again. Trying to control himself once more, he asked much more quietly, "What do you want from me?" He sounded lost, helpless, almost dangerously close to tears.

The heat radiating out from John's face brushed against Bobby's own skin, mocking him. Even as he closed his eyes, trying to escape that unnatural image of John so quiet, so still, he could feel the warmth like something solid reaching out to touch him. Following an instinct he didn't recognise, he moved in closer to try to soothe some of that burning with his own chilled skin, resting their foreheads together like when they were younger, and ignoring that predatory but increasingly familiar hiss.

Later on, a day, a week, a month, even a year afterwards, Bobby wouldn't be able to explain what he did next. Considering the situation, he blamed the crazy mix of feelings, the emotions so intense after nearly losing them for good, the temperature playing with his mind, the fear of losing his friend to something he didn't understand. Bobby was always good at avoiding what he didn't want to admit.

None of these little excuses mattered in the end. One moment a gap remained between them, albeit far smaller than any definition of personal space usually allowed; the next, he felt the stinging yet strangely comfortable, _right_ sensation of burning against his frozen skin.

And then he was kissing John.

It was hard to call it a proper kiss, for the obvious reason that the other mutant wasn't responding. Nevertheless, it seemed as natural as anything. It felt like Bobby's lips were being scorched, yet instead of pushing him away, it pulled him in deeper. The feeling was so strange that it kept him close, the shock drawing him even farther away from the emotionless calculation of before.

He might have been lost in the moment longer if given the chance. The burning, the smell, the taste, and the giddying rush he didn't quite recognise anymore. The fact that there had been such a void within him before meant that the emotions overwhelmed him, until he nearly forgot what he was doing.

Until there was a slight movement against his mouth. Not an answering response, but rather the light brush of air. A single breath.

John's breath.

Wait, what was he doing?

Bobby froze. Then, slowly, dreading what he would see, he opened his eyes.

It was John. Definitely John. Harsh, joking, sarcastic, laughing, resentful, understanding, arrogant, self-assured, overconfident, _male_ John.

He'd been… He'd been _kissing…_

The thought wouldn't finish. He wouldn't let it. Bobby jerked away, almost yelling out at the sudden cold as he left the warm body behind. Stumbling backwards, tripping and knocking things over but not caring, he couldn't seem to focus on anything. What was _wrong_ with him?

John's body was still lying there though, unmoving. That was probably a good thing, all things considered. Better if he didn't know what had happened. Better if nobody knew.

Especially since, above all else, Bobby didn't even know himself why he'd done it.

Tearing his eyes away from his friend – _'Your friend, he's your _friend_!'_ – Bobby scrambled for the door, turned the handle, threw it open, and did the only thing he could think of that even made remote sense: he ran.

Because, however much he was trying not to admit it, it had felt so, so good.

* * *

A minute passed. The trail of ice Bobby had left behind glimmered slightly in the fluorescent lights, marking his escape. Coldness seemed to hang in the air, undisturbed by whatever temperature had been there before.

There was a small movement by the wall. No, _within _the wall. Then a body stepped out and turned to look the way the blonde mutant had run.

Skin shifted, plain grey merging and vanishing into vivid sapphire.

Mystique smiled to herself. "Now that's more like it."

* * *

So this was what burning alive felt like.

John was still trying to scream, except no sound was coming out of his mouth. That might have meant he had lost his voice somewhere along the way, or his vocal chords had burnt away. He couldn't decide which.

Almost more disturbing (terrifying, really) though was the weird feeling of joy at the back of his mind, slowly spreading outwards. Even as he tried to get away from the fire, a part of him was reaching out towards it. An impulse that was only getting stronger as the seconds and the minutes passed, seeping into what he had thought of as his saner thoughts.

The flicker of the flames growing brighter; the pain slowly reshaping itself into something exciting; the burning sensation becoming something . . . amazing. It was all wrong, he could still feel that, yet now he couldn't control it. Or didn't want to.

After all, if he couldn't do anything, if he'd lost that control, then wouldn't it be better to give in and enjoy it? To let the feelings take over and stop trying to think? Maybe that other part of him had the right idea.

It was just as he began to let himself slip away, to abandon himself, that something which should have been impossible happened. There, in the middle of a fire that was still hot as hell even if might not have been real, he felt, incredibly, cold. Not just less warm, but properly cold.

Bizarrely, it felt like it had specifically touched his arm, rather than a general change of temperature. Unfortunately, before he could focus on it, it vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, leaving behind a strange feeling of abandonment. Dimly he was aware that the fire had retreated slightly, as wary as a mental picture of an element could be, but he was also aware of it gathering strength to hit him harder for it.

Then he felt it again, more forceful, almost like icy fingers grasping his arm. No, actually that _was_ what it felt like. It wasn't hard to jump from the sensation to the physical, not with such a distinct difference that the fire intensified in answer, flames reaching out for his other arm as if about to fight for him. It would be flattering if both grips didn't hurt so much.

When the colder touch disappeared again, there was a fleeting moment of relief, until the fire reached out once more, stronger for the setback. Another soundless scream tried to escape, but was only heard by the flames.

Abruptly a searing cold hit him in the chest, knocking the breath out of him and cutting off even his attempts to make a sound. His heart felt like it was freezing over, piercing him deeper than he could have imagined as it frantically tried to keep beating. Desperately he reached towards the same fire that had been burning him, because surely it would be better to be hot than cold if he was going to die either way…

_* "Come on, are you really telling me you'd rather freeze to death?"_

"_Why would I want to get barbecued?"_

"_But freezing? Popsicle, that's a stupid way to go. You're just saying that because you can't."_

"_Hey, I hate being hot just as much as you hate being cold. Why would I want to go that way?"_

"_If you hate it so much, why are you anywhere near me?"_

"_I could ask you the same question, idiot." *_

The memory came out of nowhere, a snatch of a conversation he'd forgotten until then. Something so stupid that he had barely been aware of it, hadn't really noticed whether it had been there or not when his past had been disappearing. Now, though, it calmed him somehow. Slowly he drew in a shuddering breath, not sure if it was imagined or stolen from the fire and not really caring. Maybe it had been that flash of reality, or maybe…

He never finished that thought or that breath, the latter catching in his throat as cold fingers brushed against his face. Unlike the pressure on his chest, this was strangely soothing for all its weirdness. It made him feel closer to something normal, the fire apparently more concerned with fighting this ice than trying to take him. As the chill spread deeper, settling into something more comfortable as it mixed with the heat, his eyes slowly drifted shut.

A few words floated past him then, incomprehensible in themselves yet the voice was familiar. Vaguely he thought that they might be part of a conversation, although with only one person, but he didn't try to understand them. The sound alone was curiously comforting, seeming to go with the touch, reaching deeper and pushing the fire away.

Occasionally some phrases reached out from the rest, hinting at something bigger, even if he still couldn't place the voice. He just knew he had heard it very recently. Then one line in particular grabbed his attention.

"Did you even think about me for a second, you crazy Australian idiot?"

Who? Who was talking? Why couldn't he remember them? And why the hell did they sound so mad at him? More than anything, John wanted to argue back, but he still didn't seem to be able to talk. Instead he fumed inside the way only he could, the words slipping away again, until some reached out to him in a distinctly different tone.

"I don't want to lose you."

'_Except it might be too late.'_ The thought responded before he could stop it, making him angry at himself for sounding so pathetic but also surprised at how true it felt. Whoever it was talking, he wanted to tell them to forget about him, especially if the way they were talking indicated anything about their feelings.

For a moment it was as if he had gotten his wish. A frightening silence fell, meanings falling away, soon followed by the sounds as well. There was a kind of relief at the fact that the cold touch did not leave with the words. However, apparently seeing it as weakness, the fire started to creep forwards again, circling around the small areas of ice to melt them away.

Then he gasped as he felt ice against his lips: frost against heat, taking his breath away again. At the first touch, the flames started to retreat, gaining speed as the moment stretched out into something longer. In contrast, the chill spread out slower, cooling his face and reaching to connect with the other two points.

For some reason it was a while (exactly how long was unclear, thanks to the confused sense of time wherever he was) before he realised exactly what it was. Maybe it was because his brain had processed it as like the other touches, so that it only gradually dawned on him that it was a…kiss.

Someone was kissing him?

Someone…cold?

At that realisation, the contact abruptly ended. Before he could stop it, a groan escaped him, the abandoned feeling even stronger. Why had it stopped?

Slowly he became aware again of the fire around him, hesitating at the edges, watching him like a wary animal. The sight was unnerving, yet somehow he knew what to do now. His mind felt clearer, less confused, logical thoughts finally beginning to emerge.

Raising a hand (how had he not been able to that before?), he made a simple shooing motion towards the flames. At the same time, his powers reached out instinctively, following the gesture to push them away. As they got further away, more and more started to come back to him.

Unexpectedly his perceptions tilted, the space around him moving and rotating so that it now seemed like he was lying down. He could feel something underneath him, something hard and uncomfortable. Lights started to appear, not there with him but red and dulled, as if viewed with his eyes shut.

Wait, his eyes _were_ shut. Hadn't they been open before? How had he seen anything?

Slowly, he opened his eyes.

* * *

"Why the hell can't I go?"

Professor Xavier steepled his fingers as he leant forwards in his wheelchair slightly, careful to maintain his calm expression without reacting to Marie's phrasing. Clearly she had been spending far too much time with Logan.

"You must keep in mind, Marie—"

"Rogue," she interrupted, glaring at him.

Reluctantly, he conceded, "_Rogue_. While it is true that this mansion is a home for those who wish to use their gifts, it is also a school. Our aim is to provide an education so that you may have the choice to live a normal life—"

"_Normal_?" She took a step towards him and Xavier felt Storm tense behind him. Despite the fact that he knew Marie was not a real threat, especially compared to Erik's Brotherhood or humans like General Stryker, he was glad of the reminder that he was not delivering this news alone. Of course, Logan was also present, but he had chosen to stand beside the door rather than with the two teachers. Perhaps not unusual for the mutant, but it did raise questions about whose side he was on.

In front of him, Marie looked strangely angry at his choice of words. "You think anything you do can make us normal? The world hates us as we are, and nothing you're going to teach us—" Xavier didn't miss the glare directed at both him and Ororo "—is going to stop us flying or walking through walls!"

She held out her right hand and, although he knew she was wearing gloves, the Professor was unable to stop his eyes watching it like a weapon. "You see!" she said with a strangely savage triumph. "If you're scared of me, what chance have you got of stopping all of them feeling the same way?"

Her thoughts were radiating out, making it hard for him not to read them. The anger, the outrage, the underlying feelings of abandonment and loneliness. It was hard not to recall the scared, vulnerable child of less than a year before. Once again Xavier found himself watching what humans and mutants could do to each other without using any powers whatsoever. Especially as he knew perfectly well what had caused these feelings to intensify to this extent.

"If you are not willing to try," he said carefully, choosing not to comment on his own thoughts, "then there is little chance. This may be true, but there is no reason to give up. Who knows what might change before you choose to leave?" She made a disgusted sound, which he ignored. "Nevertheless, for as long as you remain here, you must still treat the school as such."

"And you think some punishment is the right thing for that?" she muttered, her glare unwavering.

Before Xavier could respond, he felt Ororo's wish to speak and sat back, allowing her to answer Marie's question. "I understand how you may feel after Alkali Lake," she started, and it was hard for the people in the room to miss how hard she clearly found it to name the place. "All of us lost someone there."

'_I didn't lose him, idiot.'_

The words suddenly hit him out of the mess of emotions. His hand clenching around the arm of his wheelchair was the only visible sign he gave that he had heard them, but inside he was shocked by the incandescent fury contained within them. Fortunately, while Storm could cause tempests capable of incredible destruction, she still lacked the telepathic ability to hear Marie's mental interruption.

"But, as Professor Xavier says, this is still a school. Over the last few days, your attendance has been falling, and we've yet to see any work at all. As a result, as we have already said, we have made the decision together to exclude you from next week's lake trip."

Marie gave a disbelieving laugh. "God, you all talk like we're still kids, did you know that? There are people out there who want to kill us for being born, who have _tried_, and you're talking about trips to lakes and attendance?"

Ororo answered calmly, showing nothing of the alarmed thoughts only the Professor could hear. "It's true; this is a hard world, especially for people like us. Sooner or later you'll have to decide what you want to do, but for now, you can still enjoy being young without needing to worry."

At first it looked like Marie wasn't going to reply. She simply stared at the woman, disbelief slowly giving way to anger. Then she abruptly turned and strode towards the door, shooting a glare at Logan, who wouldn't meet her eyes. "None of you understand!" she yelled as she yanked the door open, her voice echoing down the hall outside. "You think we don't know what it's like yet!"

At the last moment, before she slammed the door shut, she turned and looked back at Xavier and Ororo, still both standing behind his desk. "You can't say nothing's happened; no Stryker, no soldiers, nothing. They did, and we all remember.

"Things are going to change, and we're not kids anymore."

* * *

"Nice speech, kid."

Rogue glared up at him from the bench outside the mansion, ignoring the others playing basketball out in the sun. "Leave me alone."

Logan smiled, not moving. "Seriously. Not the best time to get in an argument with the Professor, but you said it well."

"I mean it, Logan." She looked away dismissively. "Go away. You're on _their _side."

`Their side`. Funny how there were even sides within the mansion now, let alone on the outside. No wonder people didn't trust mutants; they didn't trust each other.

"I'm not on anybody's side, kid. 'Cept maybe yours."

"How?" She spat on the ground and he raised an eyebrow at the habit clearly picked up from him. All this time together couldn't be helping her to define herself as somebody separate, especially since touching seemed the easiest way to explain what he meant sometimes, so naturally she kept suggesting it.

'_And this is the girl who was scared of her powers a week ago. Figures she'd only get used to them when she doesn't care anymore.'_ Logan might be lacking quite a lot of his memories, but he remembered more than enough to recognise Murphy's Law from a mile away.

Out loud, he said, "Think about it. Everybody gone. You're the one who wanted more Danger Room time." Sure, Xavier would never be okay with something like this, but Wolverine had been able to smell the Professor's emotions in that room. Logan had always thought he was okay, and he still did mostly, except that he also knew that he was scared of Rogue. That had set off Logan's protective instinct with no trouble whatsoever.

When Rogue smiled up at him, albeit a smile that was far from innocent and looked a little bit too much like his, Logan didn't feel sorry at all.

* * *

Magneto didn't look up as he heard the familiar sound of bare feet on the cold floor in front of his desk. Several small news articles were spread out in front of him, detailing a small project the mutant they had liberated had described to him. It didn't take much to start linking together the reports into a story that sounded so typically human that it was fascinating.

As the silence started to stretch out, filled only with the quiet tap-tap-tap of the new Newton's cradle made of the iron from his ex-guard (he did like to keep mementos if he could), he frowned to himself. While Mystique understood when he was busy, she was also unafraid to disturb him if she felt her news was more important. And it usually was.

Glancing up, he saw her looking down at him, her apparently casual stance contradicting her intense gaze. Evidently she was waiting for him to give up first. Something he was reluctant to do, but eventually he deemed necessary.

"Something wrong, my dear?" As ever, the phrase slipped out more as a mark of comradeship than as any type of endearment.

She hesitated for a moment before speaking, which was most unusual for her. As if she was unsure, at the very least, of how to phrase her news. Most intriguing. He couldn't recall the last time she had seemed uncertain recently, or indeed since he had met her.

The words, when they finally came, had clearly been chosen with care. Her tone was light, yet there was something underlying it, either triumph or nervousness, he couldn't tell. "Some…complications have turned up."

Such an interesting choice of words, almost worthy of himself. Refusing to help her, he simply raised his eyebrows, inviting her to continue.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, the way they always did when she knew he thought he was playing with her. "Iceman. Two things: one I saw coming, one I…didn't." The distaste in that pause was almost palpable. Mystique hated to admit to not foreseeing something. It gave the power, however small, to somebody else, and she had been powerless for too long before to ever accept that arrangement again.

When she didn't immediately continue from there, Magneto decided to give her one small prompt. "Something unexpected?" Let her assume that he meant it was unusual for it to have passed her by.

"He woke up about an hour ago. He was…different."

So many pauses. Truly strange behaviour.

"He sounded like somebody else altogether. No emotions, as if he didn't care about anything anymore."

Now that was intriguing. Not to mention incredibly useful, if he could control it properly. However, before he could start to analyse it in depth, he noticed that, at last, a wonderfully familiar smile had appeared on her face. "Until he got close to Pyro, of course."

Magneto could already feel an answering smile forming at the mention of a further development. "And what then?"

She shook her head lightly, not to show a lack of understanding but rather in that teasing way that was generally so natural for her. "Let's just say that things have moved faster than you anticipated." He didn't miss that `you`. So, Mystique had been making her own calculations as usual. So good to hear that some things never changed. "And also, it seems, for Iceman."

He raised an eyebrow at that, yet chose to focus on something more immediate. Better to let Mystique feel in control of what she seemed so focused on. "Does that mean Pyro has recovered from his little accident?"

"He's starting to."

"That will certainly be useful. Better to have two than one, after all." He didn't add how much easier it would be to manipulate them using each other, but something in his face obviously gave it away.

Mystique leant forwards, looking at him closely. "Be careful about what they think you're doing." She smiled again, this time more savagely, revealing that cruel streak which gave her the edge he loved. "They just came from Xavier's. They should recognise when somebody's using them."

"Which is precisely what I need them to realise. Pyro had clearly started to notice Charles' methods before we found him, but Iceman still seems a little too naïve." Standing up, he moved around his desk towards the door. "Perhaps a new outlook on the world is precisely what he needs to see it."

Surreptitiously Mystique shook her head at Magneto's own way of viewing everything. Of course, she was used to how every little aspect seemed to fit into his imagined chess game, except sometimes it was more obvious. Then, before he could leave, she asked what might have been a casual question from anybody else. "And the other development?"

Pausing, Erik allowed himself a small smile. Not joyful but calculating, with a touch a triumph. Exactly how he felt.

"I think for now we shall let the pieces move themselves. We can push in either direction if necessary."

Mystique watched him walk out, reaching out behind her to catch the small iron balls as they fell without Magneto's power to hold them up. Obviously the other mutant hadn't noticed any discomfort she had in discussing Iceman's change, and so hadn't taken it as any indication of the sense of danger she had caught from the teenager. She wasn't a safe person herself, yet he had felt different, less controllable. Still, if they could somehow harness it…

What else had he said? Did he really expect her simply to leave things as they were? Oh, she'd be careful for the moment, but she couldn't promise not to interfere.

After all, she was looking forward to Pyro's reaction to what had changed while he had been away.

* * *

It wasn't really a hiding place by anyone's standards. Nobody who really didn't want to be found would try kneeling by a large open lake. Nevertheless, it was away from _there_, and that was all Bobby asked for at the moment.

He had felt something back then, when he'd … When _that_ had happened. At the time he hadn't known what it was, and now his mind was methodically trying to dissect the feelings like a science class experiment, using a coolly efficient logic that scared the part of him which could still feel things like that.

Actually, even those slightly disconnected emotions were starting to fade too, or reassemble themselves into something else. The more he tried to cling on to them, the more he wondered why they were so important. There was no need to be scared, not when there wasn't any real danger–

'_No!'_ Without understanding why, he clapped his hands over his ears, as if trying to keep out some noise. Except that action made no sense, because if he was trying to block out his thoughts (which in itself seemed extremely unlikely to happen), if anything he was keeping them in–

Gritting his teeth, he bent over, not caring if he looked like some crazy psychic. He just wanted to think like himself, like anybody normal, again. Instead his mind kept analysing each action, picking apart every emotion and irrational thought and dismissing them until all that was left was… Something that didn't feel like him at all.

He was so focused on the reasoned insanity inside his brain that the unexpected touch on his arm made him start, almost collapsing completely forwards. Spinning around, vaguely aware of the ground beginning to freeze under him (or had it already been doing that before?), he raised an arm instinctively to attack, only to have it seized before he could do anything.

Magneto raised his eyebrows at Iceman's reaction: the shocked expression quickly being replaced by determination and an attempted attack to go with it. Definitely not how he would have expected him to act. Regardless of whatever was enough to throw Mystique off balance, this could be a most promising development.

Slowly he released the arm in his grip. "Iceman," he said, as calm as if they had passed each other in the street, "I wonder if I might borrow your services for a while."

Unsurprisingly the younger mutant looked wary, although he didn't immediately refuse either. His expression, which looked carefully constructed to show indifference, betrayed a hint of interest. "For what?"

Magneto noticed the different voice, but chose to simply store it away for future reference. "To help your fellow mutants, or at least to delay a threat for a little longer."

The mystery was intended to intrigue him further as an extra incentive if necessary. The possibilities of what the mutant they had freed had uncovered seemed incredible. However, it also offered an opportunity to test what could be an ever greater asset for the Brotherhood.

He turned away, looking intently at Iceman as he did so. "We have little time. If you wish to help, we will need to leave now." A slight exaggeration of course, yet there was nothing quite like a time limit to push a decision.

Bobby hesitated. Glancing back, he looked across to the opposite side of the lake, towards the hideout where he at least hoped John would be waking up. Then he looked back at Magneto, who was starting to slowly move away, no doubt to encourage him not to waste time.

In one direction was a conversation he was almost certain would happen and didn't want to have. In the other was something he knew nearly nothing about, except that he was pretty sure it wouldn't be good, judging by the last mission Magneto had taken them on. Much as he tried not to think about what had happened then, and frighteningly he didn't seem to care about that, he knew anything Magneto would try to make him do wouldn't be the `right thing`, as they had said back at the school. Neither option was fantastically appealing.

Still, at the moment a mystery mission sounded distinctly preferable to the mess of emotions behind him.

Once he'd looked back one last time, Iceman quickly got up and ran to catch up with the leader of the Brotherhood. Even ignoring what had been keeping him here before, which was becoming more confusing and questionable all the time, after the last attack he was now too involved to turn back now.

Besides, maybe this was what he needed to find out exactly what he was changing into.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** #winces# Over a year. Oh dear God. If anybody's still following this (for a reason other than may impending death), congratulations. I'm seriously impressed. I have a whole list of reasons/excuses (exams, being distracted by the super-shiny-slashy Merlin fandom, betaing, deciding to rewrite the start of this, etc), but I'm guessing none of you will be interested. I do just want to say one huge thankyou to Tears Falling Freely for regularly poking me into writing and then managing such a fast read-through. In fact, I'll just get on with all the thankyous and stop wasting time…

Tears Falling Freely: As I said before, thanks so much for betaing this! Plus the pokes, which were probably more useful… Regarding your review, I'm glad you like the pacing, since at the moment it feels a little slow to me. I guess that just shows the stories I'm used to. Hope you liked this chapter too!

LizaGirl: Well, we had some (very brief) actually Bobby/John, at last. Um, define `soon`?

better-days: Thanks! I'm glad you like it! Er, yeah, the powers and emotions turn up a lot…

Solo Maxwell-Yamato: Eep, the adults are the saner ones. This really can't bode well. Mystique is slowly becoming my favourite character.

Firerose: `Next time don't take so long`. Oh Goood, you're going to kill me. True, trying to provoke Bobby through John is going to get a lot more dangerous now. We've got a little bit of Magneto's reaction to dead!Bobby here, so hope it lives up to your expectations!

rry: Two months is nothing to my more-than-a-year. I think I should get an award…that will then be used for my death. Seriously, my friend was shocked, and she doesn't even read fanfic anymore… With Rogue, keep in mind she's had kind of a rough time since finding out she's a mutant, so she probably wouldn't react very well to being abandoned by somebody she's relied on… Not that that means Rogue/Bobby is how it should end.

JustAnAmateur: I'm really sorry you didn't like the last chapter. If it helps, I wasn't particularly pleased with it either, and I'm hoping this is a slight improvement. At least you liked the writing, I guess… And I do appreciate the criticism.

SupernaturalGal6: Thanks! Powers can be pretty convenient that way, ne?

The Freak in the Shadows: Don't worry, it was a bit odd. Hopefully we're mostly through that patch now though… Sorry it took so long!

Haruka-Hime: Thanks so much!

immovinout: Thanks, although I'm sorry you did have to wait for more of it…

Ghost of the Moon: #blushes# Thanks! Er, did you manage to wait?

Semmi: Don't worry about not dropping a line before, I do that all the time. I'm just glad to hear from you know! (Er, then.) Wow, you've been following since the start? That's a long time… Erik's little thoughts are pretty fun to write too, as well as Evil!Bobby, so there's plenty more…

re-harakhti: Sorry there hasn't been much talking between the boys yet. Do you think you can hold on a bit longer? Then talking a-plenty. Oh, trust me, neither of them is going to forgive Xavier.

Well, hopefully there'll be another one of these soon… (Read: Before another year has passed.) #hides some more#

Note: Just a little update here to pimp out two things: 1) Poll for ADD content on my profile if there's something you want to see more of, and 2) Little fic based in the semi-future of ADD. Just want to specify that this is not where everything ends up eventually, just temporarily, since it's set during a period of time I'm going to skip over otherwise. I'm going to add the thankyous for that here too.

re-harakhti: Don't worry, it's the same bed. It's too cute an image to not put in.

Zibila: Don't worry, it does get better! Thanks for still caring about ADD!

* * *


	11. Chapter Ten: New Situation

**Disclaimer:** X-Men, be it as a film, comic, cartoon, spin-off, authorised novelisation, or anything else, does not belong to me, and most likely never will.

**Warnings for Story:** Slash of the Bobby/John variety.

**Warnings for Chapter:** Rogue-centric, John and Mystique randomly becoming the comic relief, some odd deviations from the main plot, a lack of slash action, plus the usual `omg! Writing fail!`stuff.

**Chapter Ten: New Situation**

"_You know," Rogue said nervously, looking anywhere except Logan, "the people I touch… They never really go away. They're always up here." She reached up and tapped the side of her head lightly, trying to smile at him._

_He didn't return the smile, probably wondering why she was bringing this up now. "Kid, this isn't about your powers. You wanted to know how to fight, remember?"_

"_But you use your powers when you fight!" The idea had been brewing overnight, ever since he had agreed to train her. "What if—What if I used mine the same way?"_

"_Touch them?" He looked at her as if she had suddenly become a stranger. "You think that's a good idea?" When he saw her hesitate, his expression settled into something he had used before on Bobby: assessing, but confident he would win. "So why ask to learn to fight if that's all you need?"_

_Did he really not realise, or was he just trying to be infuriating? "I can get inside people's heads. See how they think. That's an edge, right?"_

_He didn't seem willing to agree. "Once you've gotten that close, you've got them cold anyway."_

"_Not really. They can pull away if they try." _'Or if I let them.' _"Besides, how am I going to get that close to start with?"_

"_Kid. . ." The great Wolverine looked strangely uncomfortable. "You wanna learn how to use your powers, stick around with the others like I told you."_

_She let out a frustrated sound. Why was he being this difficult? All of a sudden she realised why he drove the teachers insane. "Logan, I think I can learn to fight faster if I touch you."_

_There was a long silence. Logan was staring at her, confused, wary, and disbelieving. A strange feeling of pride filled her – she had managed to surprise Wolverine. _

* * *

Rogue crouched in the observation booth which overlooked the Danger Room, staring down at the mutants below with what might have been interpreted as wonder at first. Such an expression might seem natural, given the scene before her: Storm putting the members of another class through their paces on a simulated rocky path, the main threat coming from small bird-like robots. Judging by their faces, the mutants were completely convinced by the virtual reality, and the way they were using their powers only supported that. Every now and again a particularly bright firework from Jubilee would flare up, temporarily hiding the scene behind the stubborn purple of the after-image.

A cause for wonder indeed. However, closer inspection would have revealed the intensity of the expression on Rogue's face, her eyes following every moment, blinking irritably when she was blinded even for a moment by those flashes. She was watching all of them, seeing what different moves or ideas they came up with (Jubilee had learnt some pretty useful dirty tricks after running away and Shiro, the new kid, was at least a first degree black belt in karate, if not higher). Every now and again she would slowly lift her hands and try to copy an action used, carefully attempting to record the basics for practice later.

She wasn't supposed to be here. Curfew had been at least an hour ago, maybe two, even for the older kids. This class was only here because Storm had wanted to test them late at night; test their reflexes after they had already been up all day. Stryker's attack had left the teachers very aware of the need to teach the students how to defend themselves at any time. Also, judging by the look on Storm's face as she fried two robots with a split bolt of lightning, some of them needed the chance to let some of the tension left behind loose without being afraid of the consequences.

No, according to Xavier's rules she shouldn't have been anywhere except her room. Still, Rogue doubted anybody would expect her to be in here at this time, if only because the booth was supposedly locked. And technically it had been. You had to find out the code needed, and guesses would be flagged up on the computer for the Professor to see.

Logan probably didn't realise she hadn't only been looking for moves when she had asked to practise her power. For the last couple of days it had slowly been dawning on her that if she really wanted the advantage in a fight, she had to be able to use her power as skilfully as any of the X-Men. After all, they were mutants, and they had been trained to use their powers as naturally and effectively as possible. To be at that level meant practising whenever she had the chance, not just when they decided to give her time, which would be much rarer now anyway after her little outburst in the Professor's office. That probably hadn't been the best idea, she could see that now. But it had felt good at the time.

From the first time her powers had activated – the boy she had kissed, who was so important then but now his name escaped her – to those who had touched her since – Logan trying to save her, Magneto wanting to use her, Bobby kissing her, John needing to be stopped by her – she had realised she didn't just take powers and life; she took a bit of people's minds too. The length of time mattered naturally, so that there was so little of Bobby there despite how much she wanted there to be more, but thankfully also not much of Pyro either. Just the thought of him being as strong as Magneto or Logan in her head made her shudder.

Still, if she could get anything simply from brief touches, it could help her so much. Her first thoughts, as she had reasoned it all out one night after being ordered back to her room from the gym, was that maybe she could focus on fighting moves or styles, downloading them like a computer. Of course, she would still have to practise to be able to remember them without having to think and replicate them properly, but . . .

With a quick shake of her head, she snapped herself out of those thoughts. Her powers remained a threat, she knew that. Learning to control them might be a good thing, but she shouldn't start actually planning to use them like this. To be able to get sufficiently clear access to those memories and in enough detail to recall them exactly, she would be risking the life of whoever she was touching. Maybe there were some she wouldn't mind draining close to death (her thoughts wandered back to that study), yet she didn't want to be as bad as the Brotherhood, damaging her own kind to get what she wanted. She would not become like John. She just wanted to save Bobby.

Briefly it occurred to her that she could be careful. Practise on Logan, who had seemed willing enough after the initial surprise, if it kept her out of trouble, and who apparently recovered that little bit faster. Admittedly she had never properly tried on anybody else, such contact only happening by accident or for other reasons (there was no way you could kiss somebody like that if you didn't love them!), yet perhaps once she had started to discover the time limits…

Rogue stamped down on those thoughts, dragging her attention back to watch Shiro knock a robot down with some complicated kick and then dispatch it with a blast of energy. Now she admitted that she was scared, scared of how quickly her old fear of her powers had turned into an eager curiosity about how they could be used. It was only worse when she was very aware of at least one powerful telepath left in the mansion, not to mention however many younger ones staying up to practise whilst everybody else was asleep.

Nevertheless, she wasn't quite as worried by her new perspective as others probably would be. Her fear had been such a constant, crippling presence ever since discovering her powers that the sheer relief was enough to make the situation feel fantastic anyway. Thinking back, maybe all she had needed was the sudden shock to snap her out of it, or the need to start relying on herself rather than other people making excuses for her. After all, Miss Grey, who had apparently been pretty power-conscious herself for so long, had come back from Liberty Island stronger than before.

'_Yeah, not like it helped her.'_ The sudden thought of her old teacher made her pause as she tried to copy Shiro's kick (how the hell did he do that?), although her attention remained on the mutants below, recording the rest of their movements almost automatically. Despite her new detachment from her old life as it tried to cling to her, she could feel the change in the mansion as much as anybody else. You didn't have to be sensitive to hear the stutter in Storm's voice when Alkali Lake was mentioned or to see Cyclops sitting in the gardens, staring at nothing. Possibly she even felt the difference more, since, after all, she could relate to their loss on some level.

'_Stop saying it like that. He's not `lost` in the same way.' _

This time she didn't need herself to drag her attention back away from her thoughts. Somebody else did it for her. Suddenly she felt a chill run up her spine as she realised that the door was slowly opening behind her.

Her head snapped around at the sound, before she attempted to dive for cover behind one of the consoles that monitored mutant power levels, simulations, and God only knew what else. The move would have been perfect, hiding her while still offering a reduced view of the lesson below. However, that was in theory.

It was something she had pulled from Wolverine, eagerly absorbing as much information as possible as her desire to learn led almost inevitably to frustration at the length of time it was taking to be taught. Of course she understood why it was necessary to carefully deconstruct and then build up a move to be able to safely and successfully replicate it, but surely if the knowledge had gone directly from one mind to another, it would be relatively easy to use it to copy the move.

There was one key flaw though: Wolverine knew, _really_ knew, how to do it himself. That meant that each movement and every corresponding part, particularly the force used, were those needed for _his_ body. As a result, when Rogue instinctively launched herself using the deep memory (if you could call it that when you were dealing with _Wolverine_ of all people), she found herself pushed too far, her lighter body missing the shadow of the console next to her. To make matters worse, her body then tried to compensate for the muscles and weight which simply weren't there, meaning she hit the floor in a way which tapped into a pain threshold that really wanted to be left alone and creating a noise as she brought a chair down with her (there had been no chairs in Wolverine's scenario) that could have been heard by pretty much anybody passing by.

Groaning as dull, angry pain started to throb through her side, she managed to lift and turn her head enough to look up into Logan's face as he grinned down at her. She knew him too well now though, both personally and mentally, to be fooled into missing the worry in his eyes.

"Nice move, kid. Might want to work on your landings though." Even the humour in his voice sounded too forced to her. She could have sworn Wolverine had never been this (relatively) easy to read. Maybe it was simply that she had touched him enough times to see through those fronts of his, but that new awareness was disturbing enough for her, let alone what her other `teachers` might think if they ever found out.

Sure enough, the smile quickly faded, his expression becoming even more carefully blank than usual. "So, which do you want to start with?" From a pocket he pulled out a cigar whilst with the other hand he struck a match on a prominent `No Smoking` sign next to him and lit it, keeping his eyes steadily on her the whole time. Oh God, he was _trying_ to be casual, and it was so obvious to her. Didn't he realise that she could see right through him now?

After a pause as he inhaled deeply, Logan drawled, "There's the part where you're somehow inside a room no student should be able to get in." He exhaled, the smoke rising up above him. "Then there's that move you just tried to pull off which I never taught you. Not great, but I'll bet you knew exactly what to do up here." He tapped the side of his head, narrowly avoiding stabbing himself with the cigar. For a moment there, Rogue wished he would.

Damn, so he was still pretty good. "I…saw it on TV," Rogue lied, ashamed of how easy it was and at the same time appalled that that was the best she could come up with.

He raised an eyebrow in that disbelieving way of his, leaning back slightly to take another draw on his cigar. Before, she might have made some sort of joke about smoking in front of students, but over the last few days it had started growing on her. Maybe it was partly from being around the man more, yet she knew it was also from those touches that carried so much more than just power.

"Didn't know you could pick up moves just like that. Watching something's one thing; copying it and only messing up on the technical side is something else." He looked down at her again, the cigar drifting down with his gaze until it was dangerously close to one of the consoles. He didn't seem to notice. "Anything you want to tell me?"

"I…" She wanted to tell him, she really did. The part of her that knew this really wasn't how her life, her mind, her _powers_ were supposed to go was screaming out that all she had to do was say something now to stop all of this. The rest of them didn't even have to know. Logan was her _friend_, the man who had been looking out for her ever since they had met. The words were so close…but then they fell back. He wouldn't understand; it would be like when she had first come here. If people found out – and they always did – that she touched their minds as well as their powers…

He sighed, sounding simultaneously the disappointed teacher and the worried friend, as she looked away, hair conveniently falling loose to cover the side of her face which he would have seen otherwise. "Suit yourself." There was an awkward pause, of the kind that tended to happened when Logan felt he had to say something connected to the emotions he usually covered up so carefully. "…Anytime you want to talk though, you know where I am," he finally managed, looking away like a guilty child.

"Until you run off again." Her eyes widened in horror as she realised she had really said those horrible words, the initial irritated thought finding its own way of attacking her friend without so much as a telepath to drag it out. Funny how you forgot how capable your own mind was of condemning you without any help whatsoever. Quickly she looked up, afraid of what she would see. Confusion briefly overrode guilt as he didn't seem to have heard. Surely it was too much to ask for that mutant hearing to have conveniently missed those hurtful words?

Then she noticed his hand tightening around his cigar, shaking slightly, oblivious to the falling ashes for a different reason to his simple indifference of before. "L-Logan?" she asked tentatively, reaching out as if she could grab the words and bring them back. "I… Logan, I didn't mean—"

"I'm not sure how you got in here," he interrupted, turning away, "even if I do have a pretty good idea of what you're doing, but you should get to bed." Hope flickered in her when he glanced back, only to die again when she saw the distant look in his eyes and registered the emotionless tone of his own words. "I don't know whether you're trying to learn something you think I won't teach you or if you just want to see people like us in action, and I really don't care." There was a slight lie there, although Rogue could read him enough to realise just how small it was.

"I want you out of here. Go and sleep like every other kid here."

`Kid`. It always used to be affectionate coming from him, but now it sounded like every time a teacher used it: dismissive, patronising, authoritative. None of them were words she ever thought she would use to refer to Logan.

For a moment she was too shocked, both from her retort and also his response, to react. She tried to force an incredibly weak smile onto her face, which seemed to waver and melt as soon as he looked at it like wax under a flame. "Are you sending me to my room?" she tried to joke, not even bothering to hide her wince at how feeble it was.

Wolverine didn't even give her that. He simply looked down at her, no obvious emotion left in his eyes. Swallowing, Marie slowly pulled herself to her feet, not noticing the throb of pain from her bruised side, edging towards the door, circling him, facing towards him until she could reach the door, open it, break that painful eye contact, and run.

* * *

"Wake up, Pyro."

The voice was familiar, though he couldn't immediately put a name to it. Slowly, warily, he opened his eyes, to see two amused yellow ones gazing down at him.

"Wha—" His voice cut off, interrupted by a sudden cough which wracked his whole body. His throat felt parched, as if he hadn't drunk for days. Even his skin felt dry, and he could feel the beginnings of a pounding headache lurking just above his eyes. He tried to speak again, only to be stopped before he could manage anything coherent.

When he felt two hands at his back he jerked away in surprise, only to be rewarded by a sharp clap around the head. Whilst the stars and the ringing sound were fading, he felt himself being manoeuvred until he was sitting up, resting against the wall behind him. When his sight slowly returned, one blur in front of him resolved into possibly the best thing he could have imagined at that moment: a glass of water.

Eagerly John seized it from unresisting blue hands, the blessed chill from inside the glass soothing to his heated skin, and tried to gulp it down. Almost immediately though he winced and made a small, almost animal-like sound of pain, the glass falling from his hand and shattering on the floor as he spit out the boiling liquid along with a cloud of steam.

That water had been cold. He'd _felt_ how cold it was. Yet that seemed impossible when he was watching the liquid evaporate before his eyes only seconds later.

Through the disbelieving shock, he registered a weary sigh from somewhere to his left, along with a mutter which sounded like "Not _that_ much cooler, then." As he frowned, mouthing the words to himself as if that would force some sense out of them, he heard footsteps moving away from him. He turned towards the sound, only to yell out as he was suddenly hit in the face by a stream of water.

Spluttering and temporarily deafened by the resulting hiss of steam rising off him, John squinted towards the source through the mist, catching sight of Mystique as she disdainfully lowered the simple, disgustingly orange bucket she was holding. "Wh-Wh…" The words still refused to come out, although luckily this time not because he was coughing. Either he still couldn't talk or shock had managed to wipe anything he had ever learnt to say out of his mind.

Despite not being able to completely make her out through the haze around him, John could imagine the smirk on her face as she held a finger to her lips. Her hand looked strange, slightly thicker than he remembered, which might explain how she had been able to touch him when his skin could boil water in moments. Assuming, of course, that he wasn't just imagining it.

"Don't try talking yet," she told him, infuriatingly calm, as if oblivious of his glare. "You've been out for days. Don't bother until you can actually drink something." She made a noise that he definitely didn't like. "Not that spitting isn't the height of gentlemanly behaviour, of course."

The sarcasm, the dismissive tone; both reached a point inside him that instantly provoked a response, but frustratingly the retort was twisted into first a few guttural sounds, then another fit of coughing that scraped his throat raw. Hearing that increasingly familiar hissing sound again told him his eyes were attempting to water. Abruptly though the sensation was drowned out by another bucket load of water being hurled over him, followed by a second glass being forced into his hand.

However unpleasant, disorienting, and hateful it may have been, and as much as he would have hated to admit it, Mystique's technique did in fact seem to be working to some extent. His clothes actually felt damp briefly, the jeans retaining the water a little longer, before drying out once more. Encouraged by this, as well as how the water in the glass didn't seem to be bubbling the way he had half-expected, he quickly tipped the liquid back down his throat.

It was unpleasantly warm and made him gag, but there was enough there to finally swallow and feel something trying to soothe the pain left from his coughing fits. He breathed out a sigh of relief, along with a few accompanying traces of steam.

A clear smile of amusement crossed Mystique's face, finally swimming back into focus, as she held up the miraculously refilled bucket. "Another?" The deceptive delight in her voice sounded strange, like a cat smiling at you, yet at the same time it had the sound of that same feline coming a little closer to its prey. John had already gathered that the other mutant usually had another motive for everything she did, and had also decided that there was no way he was ever going to trust her.

Still glaring at her, he finally, after a few more attempts, managed to choke out what he at any rate would call a sentence. "Y-You're enj-joying this…" He trailed off into another bout of coughing.

"I try to enjoy the jobs I have to do." For a moment she glanced down at the bucket, clearly contemplating flinging the load to make sure, before looking up again with another satisfied smile when she saw him tense up. Instead, she reached out for the glass in his hand, obviously amused at his flinch when she took it, and refilled it from the bucket.

John bit back a thanks as she returned it to him, the mere thought of gratitude towards her leaving a bad taste in his mouth. There was no way he would give her any more pleasure than she was already getting from this. Swallowing with a grimace of disgust, he spat out, "Nice to know you c-care." Experimentally, he tried swirling some water around his mouth to dispel the dryness slightly. Instead, after a barely detectable improvement, he growled in frustration and blew out another cloud. Looking back up at her, seeing that mocking smile widening, he muttered, "You said a few d-days?"

She nodded, and with a sense of satisfaction John watched her turn away from the expelled heat. Good to see she did feel things after all.

"Why d-didn't y-you try earlier?"

"Couldn't get close." Glaring at the wisps of steam around her, she waved a hand to dispel them. Then she smirked in a way that set off alarm bells even through John's still-hazy thoughts. "I had to let Iceman do that for me."

'_Bobby.'_ Strange how that thought finally snapped him away from the weird half-focus on Mystique alone. "Where is he?" Wouldn't he have been here? Wouldn't John have been if it had been Bobby lying unconscious? "Where did he go?"

Great. There was that aggravating arrogant superior-cat-smile again. One that made him regret the fact that he wasn't hot enough to burn anymore. As if in answer to that thought, he felt the heat start to rise again, bringing the immense satisfaction of seeing her take a step away from him, a wary expression temporarily replacing the smile.

His own smile, an eerie mirror of her own if he had realised it, was answered by a disapproving glare that wouldn't have looked out of place on any of his old teachers. She even wagged one of her fingers disapprovingly, and the whole thing could have just felt like déjà vu, except of course for the fact that unlike Ms Munroe or Mrs Gray, John was actually a little scared of Mystique, however much he might have tried to hide it.

"Don't try it, Pyro. Water only seems to go so far and Iceman's not here to give you his helping hand."

At the repeat of that name, along with the slight roll in those last words that John decidedly did not like at all, the temperature settled down again, albeit still higher than before. "Where is he?" he asked once more.

Now Mystique had that smile back, and didn't seem willing to ever give it up again. "On a mission, naturally." The bucket was put to one side, although John seriously doubted this was because she didn't want to use it. This was a game, something he was starting to understand perhaps a little too well, so that meant no distractions. "There's still a war out there. Surely you couldn't have expected us to wait forever?"

God, the way she made that simple question sound so mocking made his blood boil – something he quickly stopped thinking as soon as he realised how literally his body might take it. "A…mission?" Part of that thought jarred, and John was pretty certain he knew which. "…_Bobby_ went on one of _your_ missions?"

"Evidently." She knew; he could see it in her face. She knew where he was going with this. Damn, she must be bloody loving every moment.

"But…" He frowned, trying to force the world back the way it was supposed to be, disoriented and not simply by Mystique's way of playing with him. Why couldn't he accept what she had said, beyond the obvious reasons? "But Bobby wouldn't do anything you'd want. He…" Oh God, now it was coming back to him… "He's just here because of me. He couldn't…" He trailed off at the look on Mystique's face. Somehow, he knew she had just won.

"Oh dear, Pyro," she drawled, looking like a cat with the cream, milk, mouse, and all. "You _are_ a little out of the loop, aren't you?"

* * *

"What's with the kid? He ain't going to lose it again, is he?" Jamie Madrox, the so-called Multiple Man, looked at Bobby in a way that was supposed to be dismissively superior, but in fact belied an underlying wariness, bordering on an emotion that he most certainly would not describe as fear. Apprehension, maybe. And was that really so strange? After what he had seen him do before, not to mention the disturbingly blank look on his face now (the kid looked like a frigging robot), Madrox felt it was justified to be a little…unsettled by him.

Magneto smiled, the expression revealing enough patronising indulgence to make Madrox grit his teeth. The other mutant wouldn't even look at him, just looking out across the vast lake to the power station on the other side. "So desperate for power they can control," he muttered to himself, as if oblivious to Madrox's question. "They don't even tell their fellow homo sapiens what else they do with it, and none of them ask." The smile took on a nastier edge. "Little wonder the planet falls apart in their hands."

"Hey, you listening to me?" Grabbing Magneto's shoulder, Madrox spun him around to face him, two copies of himself appearing to surround him at the click of his fingers. "Answer the question, tough guy!"

Wearily, as if this was far beneath him (and, although the other mutant wouldn't realise it, it was), Magneto dismissively turned to look at the third member of their group. Bobby was standing to his right, leaning on the railing and staring, unmoving, out at the same point as he had been a moment ago. There seemed to have been no reaction to the…discussion taking place next to him, yet Erik seriously doubted he was completely oblivious.

"Kindly let go of me, Mr. Madrox," he said calmly, not even bothering to look back at him (or any of them, for that matter). "Iceman is a member of the Brotherhood, and as such he is here to assist in a task which _you_ suggested." He stepped backwards, out of Jamie's loosened grip and past the two copies, who offered no resistance. "Surely you're not worried about him hurting any humans in there?" he asked, finally flicking his eyes back over to him. The predator-like appraisal matched the cruel, mocking tone of his voice.

"Of course not," Jamie said a little too quickly, merging back with his copies. "Just looking out for myself, you know?" It wasn't immediately clear whether the slight nervous smile was a reaction to Magneto's almost effortless control or another indication of how uncomfortable he felt around the younger mutant.

"Indeed I do." With that, Magneto turned away again, leaving Madrox standing there uncomfortably. Stepping next to Bobby, he looked straight ahead, carefully keeping his face as blank as his companion's, the predator concealing itself for the moment. After a pause, he carefully asked, "Have you had any thoughts on the matter, Iceman?"

"They'll want to keep it subtle outside," was the blank, emotionless reply. "Won't want to attract any attention from the locals. Inside'll be a different matter. As far as they think, they're prepared for us."

There was something so intensely gratifying in hearing those words coming from someone who had been in line to be one of Charles' X-Men only a few days ago. Something that Erik could not stop himself feeling a small rush from every time he heard it. _'Such potential. How many more are you hiding to train in that school of yours, old friend?'_

Despite his thoughts, Magneto continued to maintain an unimpressed façade. "And are they prepared for us?"

When he heard no reply, he chanced a glance to his right. Iceman was looking at him in a way that clearly indicated how likely he believed it to be that anybody could be prepared for the power lying across `their` lake. "Metal guns, doors. Everything. Lots of water to cool down anything they need to run this place. And they'll be relying on `strength in numbers`."

"Damn, I love people like that," Madrox remarked from behind them. Unlike the other two mutants, he was looking down the hill towards the small town nestled below. Reasonably large community, thanks to the jobs, and cheaper electricity from the power plant. How many would be left by that night?

"Mr Madrox." Magneto's voice cut through his thoughts. "They may be nothing more than homo sapiens, but our actions must have a purpose. If they die in the course of our endeavours, then so be it." He turned the full force of his stare on the latest Brotherhood member. "But you did not call us here for murder at random."

"'Course not, sir," Jamie blurted out, the `sir` slipping out before he could stop it. He wondered if people – humans – realised that this mutant leader was so much more frightening than any of the wardens, judges, guards or governors he'd…encountered over all of these years.

Then again, the kid behind him wasn't a whole lot better. It wasn't the first time he'd been watched (a natural by-product of having copies appearing at a moment's notice), but not in _that_ way, as if all of this was boring for him. And he was a bloody teenager too. Jamie had never taken kindly to anybody who had ever tried to make him feel insignificant, and having this _kid_ at it only made things worse. "Hey, what are you looking at?"

"You," the blonde replied without a trace of irony or sarcasm. "Who else?"

"Oh, you think you're funny, huh?" Nothing funny of course, but between the two of them he was easily disturbed enough for his `tough guy` act to go on the defensive. "You wouldn't find it so funny if I—"

"Enough." Magneto had a voice which could cut through adamantium, and a glare to match it. "We are not here for your petty posturing. We are here to send a message."

Madrox crossed his arms, ignoring how childlike the posture might be considered to be. "And how do you expect us to get in there to do that, then?"

Slowly Magneto smiled at him once more. It was not a happy or kind smile. It was the smile of one who knew what was about to happen and who welcomed it. "I'm sure even you know what to do in these situations, Mr. Madrox."

'_How come it's all `Iceman` everything and I ain't good enough for one `Multiple Man`?'_ Madrox thought (he imagined) a little rebelliously, although he didn't like the answer his mind offered that maybe it sounded a little too silly to be said by somebody as awe-inspiring as the mutant leader. Rather than voice his complaint or attempt an answer that would probably only be mocked in that subtle way Magneto had, he stayed silent, as close to glaring as he thought he could get away with.

Magneto allowed his gaze to drift supposedly casually over to Iceman. "I assume you have been taught what is acceptable, when you wish to enter somewhere?" It was left as a question simply to invite an answer. Perhaps it was best not to mention Charles at what was still a critical time.

Iceman looked back at him, not even seeming to blink. "Ask," he said quietly, as if the answer was obvious.

Confused, Jamie looked at the kid, and then back at Magneto, who was regarding him with a strangely weary expression. Then the penny dropped, and he began to smile as he clicked his fingers.

His copies all had the same grin as him.

* * *

"Marie?"

The name went unanswered. Not by accident or because its owner couldn't hear; because she had to make a choice sooner or later about who she thought she was now.

Moving on one foot, she smoothly rotated in the middle of the room, hands gradually following, coming up into a ready position. Such slow movements were incredibly frustrating, but Logan had insisted on her trying some Tai chi. Something about how it had helped to calm him when he'd spent time in Japan. She could only assume that this was a memory that had either been shaken loose recently or ignored before, because the Wolverine she had first met so long ago in Lockland City really hadn't seemed the type to have experienced anything to calm down his temper. Exactly the opposite, in fact.

Still, she had reluctantly agreed, despite her doubts regarding its effectiveness on his temper, after he had explained how it could help her control her own body. That much she had felt to be true from her touches. Besides, that was what had gone wrong when she had tried to copy his moves before: no control and no understanding of how he moved. And he was onto her now, so she was going have to work on what she already had, along with the kids down in the Danger Room. If this was what Logan did every day now (something she wasn't sure she believed), then—

"Marie!"

Still there. Circling her arms around, she let her eyes slide over Kitty in the doorway. What was she still doing here? Weren't the rest of them supposed to be leaving this morning?

"Okay, if you're going to be like that… Rogue!"

"I'm busy," she muttered, swinging around again. Enough was in her head from Logan to know the idea was to remain calm during this, because if you got frustrated you tried to do the moves too fast and the whole thing would fall apart. God, how could _Wolverine_ of all people stand this?

Kitty crossed her arms, leaning in the doorway. "Oh, I can see that. Listen, I just wanted to tell you we're going now."

In as bored a voice as she could manage (not very difficult under the circumstances), she muttered, "Have fun." _'Go away.'_

Silence fell. Glancing towards the door, Rogue could see Kitty still standing there and still watching her. What the hell was her problem? No, she wouldn't rise to it; she wouldn't give her the satisfaction of winning…

"Can I help you?" Kitty was being the small child here, not her. Why should she play her game?

Standing up straight, the phaser put her hands on her hips. No doubt this was supposed to make her look threatening in some way. _'She looks like a little girl trying to play at being tough. I wonder why?'_ Rogue thought to herself sarcastically, not realising that the other mutant was thinking exactly the same thing about her.

"You know," Kitty started, her voice just like when she was going to start one of her show-off arguments with a teacher, "you're not the only one who misses him. We all do."

Here it came again. How many times did she have to hear this? Everybody thought it was only a matter of _missing_ someone. None of them seemed to understand the very simple concept that missing` implied somebody lost, not somebody _taken._

"But this isn't the way to handle it." Oh God, not the psychoanalysis. "This isn't like you, Rogue. What do you think you're going to do, take on the whole Brotherhood yourself?"

No. Only the one that mattered.

"I know you're hurting, so why don't you talk to us, instead of going all psycho like—"

'_Hand up. Around. Raise the knee. Turn…'_

"Christ, Rogue, listen to me! Everybody wants him back, but it isn't going to happen! Hell, I want _both_ of them back!"

At that, Rogue froze. Then, slowly, she lowered her arms and leg and turned to face Kitty. "Both of them?" she asked quietly, trying to sound as if the calmness that had been shattered was still there.

Rather than back off at the slight tremor in Rogue's voice that betrayed the deeper emotions, Kitty met her gaze, challenging. "Yeah. Both of them." She looked down at where Rogue's hands were clenched at her sides. "I know you've got this big idea that somehow John's responsible for all of this, but—"

"Don't say his name!" Faster than Kitty could react, Rogue lunged forward, caught the other girl's shoulder and slammed her against the doorframe. Lowering her voice to a hiss, she said, "I don't care what you've got in that empty skull of yours, but see if you can possibly fit this in too: Pyro took Bobby. Tricked him somehow. And I'm going to get him back, because I don't abandon people I care about or sit around talking about how I can't do anything when I can." Leaning in close, she added, "You got that, bub?"

On hearing the last word, Kitty's expression suddenly changed from alarm and more than a little fear into a surprise that bordered too closely on disgust. "God, _that's_ your big idea? Turn into a mini-Wolverine and go riding off like he did?" She shifted against Rogue's hand, apparently not noticing when a bare finger (what was the point of wearing gloves when she didn't want to be disturbed anyway?) briefly brushed against the skin revealed around her neck. "You really are a freak!"

The shock of that sudden moment of contact, as well as the hateful word dripping with venom, made Rogue loosen her grip enough for Kitty to worm her way free. Running off down the corridor, she stopped long enough to yell behind her, "I don't know what Bobby saw in you!"

Only a few days ago that simple touch wouldn't have meant anything. Now it gave Rogue enough to realise something that made her blood boil.

Leaning out to shoot a look of hatred after Kitty, she yelled back, "Well, he sure as hell didn't see it in you!"

Slamming the door behind her, she grabbed a cushion from the bed and threw it up in the air.

Arms up, around, hands out, in.

As her hands connected with enough force to knock a man to the ground, she realised she hadn't needed to bother with being slow. The actions had been quick, instinctive and potentially deadly.

They had been Wolverine's.

Perfect.

* * *

David O'Neill had never expected an exciting life. Whilst he knew that he lived in an exciting time, most of it had seemed to pass him by, and there was no reason why it shouldn't carry on doing so. The furthest he had ever been from home had been the next state along after his grandfather had died and his mother had had to go to his funeral even though she had hated his guts.

School had never helped either. There had never been the question or even a mention of possibly going to college in some far-off place – Chicago, San Francisco, LA, _anywhere – _because with his grades he had been lucky not to flunk out of school altogether.

All he had now was this dead end job – definitely dead end because his father had killed himself rather than face it for what would have been the rest of his life – guarding who knew what. It was a power station in the middle of nowhere, for God's sake. If you wanted to make an impact, surely you'd target somewhere much closer to, you know, people and things that mattered. Okay, so maybe there was a little too much security for just one power source, but what did he know? He'd been off with Jenny, the pretty young thing who was now his plainer, older wife, when they'd apparently covered these things in class.

Besides, there had been all that business up in Canada almost a week ago. Sure, that had been a dam, and an old one at that, but it got you wondering. There hadn't been anything up there either. And down here, even if they didn't matter in the great scheme of things (or so their teachers had always implied as heavily as possible), a lot of people would die if this place was attacked. Everybody he knew and more besides.

Nervously he fingered the gun at his side. The gun that he'd been given right about the time that the rumours had started flying, which hadn't been long after the news had reached them. One old dam bursting might not have been so significant, making them wonder why it had been reported at all, until Tom Richards started saying he'd heard it was those mutant things that everybody seemed to be talking about these days . . .

Next thing David knew, there were practice drills, and warnings, and secrets, and guns. Real, proper, solid _guns_. And soldiers too, past his gate, soldiers that weren't scared of mutants or guns or anything.

All of which made him _really_ wonder what the hell they were all guarding in that power plant.

Forget new places. David would have given anything to go back to the old, boring but _safe_ way of things.

A rapping noise abruptly jerked him out of his mental complaining. It was so unexpected it took him a while to realise what it was: someone tapping on the glass of his booth. Looking out disbelievingly (how long had he worked here? When had he last missed somebody? And when had it ever been anybody without standard clearance?), he saw an average-looking brown-haired man standing outside, grinning at him.

"Hi there, mate." Whoever he was, he had an Accent. David was like most people who had never left their home town: no good at identifying accents, but instantly distrustful of them. "Don't suppose we could get in?"

"`We`?" Glancing past him, David could only see the long path leading up to his gate. Maybe one or two people could be hiding behind the sign labelling the site, but that was all. Otherwise it was just a bleak concrete road winding up towards the facility, continuing under the large metal barrier towards the complex itself. Yet the words had been spoken with the cool confidence of a man with not just a couple but several, if not more, people backing him up.

Returning his gaze to the stranger, David narrowed his eyes. "I suppose you have some clearance?" he asked, knowing that he damn well didn't and enjoying the chance to use his dismissive guard voice. There sure as hell wasn't a chance for it around the soldiers.

Grinning cheekily, the man patted himself down. "Gee, I guess I left it at home." He rolled his eyes. "Typical, eh?"

David was determined not to rise to the bait. "_Sir_," he was proud of the distaste he managed in that word – finally, something he'd actually learnt from his teachers, "I must ask you to leave."

"Oh, come on, don't be like that." The man leant in closer to the glass until his breath steamed a small circle right in front of the guard, slapping his hands together much more forcefully than necessary into a pleading gesture. "Please?"

With a sigh and filled with a sense of importance (this was it, real work!), David slowly stood up and stepped out of his booth. "Sir," he repeated, making sure his gun was visible. No knowing what this idiot might try, especially if this was some kind of dare. Just a little scare to send him running off again. "Do you need to be escorted from the area?"

Bizarrely, although the man did eye the automatic at his side with a strange wary familiarity, rather than back down, his smile only grew wider. "Hey, I tried just asking."

"Hands up, please," David said calmly, drawing his gun. He was pretty certain that was a little overdramatic, but he had always wanted to say that, and the guy seemed alone…

Slowly, the man extended his hands into the air, sighing in a way that was almost…disapproving. "Jeez, you give a guy a gun—" he clicked with both hands "—and he thinks he's got you outnumbered."

"What're you…" The words died on David's lips. Three people had stepped out from behind the apparently-not-alone stranger and quickly surrounded him.

They all had the same face.

A sudden fear gripped him. That wasn't… He looked from one to another, spinning in a tight circle. Surely _this_ one had darker hair, or _that_ one's eyes were slightly closer together… Lies to comfort himself, like all those times he'd said he would get a better job, a better life.

The gun was heavier than he'd expected. "Here, let me get that for you," one of them said, although he couldn't say which.

A sudden cracking sound, a flash of bright light, pain in the back of his head…darkness.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** Well, it wasn't another year until an update. That's good, right? I mean, I'm going to just ignore the fact that I revised for exams, did them, and got the results back in between updates, okay? Except that it really is ridiculous how much time procrastination, shiny fandoms (yes, another one) and excuses (plus, you know, real life) can suck away. I feel like this fic is going to haunt me for the rest of my life, especially since I'm barely even a third of the way through all the stuff I still want to do. *dies*

There's a lot more Rogue in this one, mainly because halfway through handwriting this I got immense writer's block and left it for bloody months and when I came back to it I randomly found Rogue's POV so much easier to write. From the looks of things though, this will be balanced out by a heavy focus on Bobby and John (but not together, because my muse is fickle and cruel, not to mention way more interested in anything happening a couple of chapters away from where I need it to be focused right now). So, yay?

Right, review replies, before I go all Director's-Cut-y and explain every little bit of `the process` or whatever…

heavenmidori: Eep, sorry if I made you freak your parents out (as clearly I have _never_ done anything like that). Thanks though!

rry: Hmm, I vaguely recall bananas too. Odd. Gah, I know, I'm so sorry for being so long between updates. Thankyou so much for sticking with it!

Zibila: Thanks for your review! I think Rogue's just feeling a bit lost at the moment, not to mention feeling a bit disillusioned about Xavier's. She is definitely lashing out though.

monchy08: I do really want to continue this fic, it just keeps fighting me… I guess you could call this update, er, relatively soon compared to a year?

SenpaiKohaiDanna: Agree on Bobby and John only being right together. I mean, just look at all the trouble Bobby has with anybody else. Glad you like the new Bobby and Rogue, and yes, it will be, er, interesting when the trio meet up again. And very sorry for it not being as soon an update as you requested.

re-harakhti: Wow, thanks for such a nice review! Glad you liked/noticed the Newton's cradle line, since it makes me feel all proud rather than geeky for thinking of it. Naïve!Bobby is a little too easy to write, but don't worry, there will be a `talk` when he gets back from Magneto's mission (because Magneto would so be evil enough to separate them like that). And damn, your Rogue idea sent the muse bunnies scampering off for ages. Shush!

Harlequin Jade: Thanks! Glad you like the fic!

Catri Howlman-Carthaki spy: Don't worry, you're not the only one who forgot what happened. I had to do a quick check myself. And which good excuses did you have in mind? I must remember them for later. And trust me, my inspiration is extremely finicky.

blaahblaah: Sorry not to have updated very soon, but I'm glad you're enjoying what's there so far!

11OneDone2Many: #sighs# Yes, there will be John/Bobby-ness eventually. As soon as I can get them in the same room…

Emeralden Rapley: Wow, thanks for all of your reviews! Good luck with your fics (and don't worry about the procrastinating, you may have gathered that you're not alone), I'm glad you like Phoenix's POV waaay back and yes, do look for more Bobby/John fics because there are some amazing ones out there.

Pseudonym Jareth: I'm glad you think the relationship is well written, seeing as they barely ever seem to be speaking to each other at the moment, and I hope you feel waiting is justified. As you may have gathered, it can be quite a long wait… Thanks!

InMyEyesForever: Well, here is some of what happens next…

Syd: Finishing this fic seems a long way away, but trust me, I want to get there.

Ossa (or her friend): Wow. I really wouldn't call it the best Bobby/John fic – trust me, there are some fantastic ones out there – but thanks!

Phoenixfire979: Yeah, I like it better when they're so much more powerful. And yaoiness is on its way!

And, as ever, a huge thanks to my beta, Tears Falling Freely. You're wonderful!

Right, now for some more procrastination and freaking out about uni…


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